Acrylic, Ink, paper, fibers, wood, findings on wood panels and plexiglass
If I must be wrung through the paradox,
—broken into wholeness,
wring me around the moon;
pelt me with particles from the dark side.
Fling me into space;
hide me in a black hole.
Let me dance with devils on dead stars.
Let my scars leave brilliant traces,
for my highborn soul seeks its hell—
in high places.
-Avah Pevlor Johnson