Does language hover between my nerve endings and the world, or is language my skin itself? Sheath of feeling. Words groping to touch air.
Crawling Out of the Morass
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A preliminary sketch that I hope to work on in the coming days. Photo with electric light during a dark thunderstorm. Self-portrait, stick and water-soluble graphite, 20"x26". Crawling out from a deeply troubling family crisis.