duende

You burned small holes into the linear flow of time like extra smoke breaks and eddies in the water and left me snarling stories into votive objects. I start with scraps of memory, handled often and reworked. These wear thin at the edges and are burnished, repainted in brighter, unsettling colors. They calcify, grow brittle and break. I mend them at the seams. The result isn’t really a memorial to a certain person or event but a talisman with its own weight and significance.