I am kept awake by an itch that refuses to leave my body.  Originally settling under my first layer of skin, the itch has burrowed deeper and deeper over the years.  Some nights, I find myself having to hold myself back from the begging urge to scratch at it until my nails peel back and my purpled, bloodied flesh is no longer recognizable.  No matter how much I try to ignore it, I may never rid myself of this desire to rip myself apart from the inside out. 

 

It’s on those dark nights I turn to

painting and printing. 

Planning, processes, production.

 

    & poetry.