1%

As I ask what remains, 

Half a year ago I passed some of my grandmother's items through my hands, helping my mother renovate her apartment. There wasn't much but there was a lot of substance. On another hand, it was remarkable how much there was. The scraps, just odds and ends, accumulated over a lifetime. A fantastic moment which generated many minutes of belly wrenching laughter, was the bottom item, a sign for a slippery surface and a warning "Do not run!"  Why was it tucked away in the back of a drawer for years? Just amazing...

distance, a knowing and a not-knowing

I'm obsessed with subtle expressions and realizing that so much can be translated even without features, in the spaces around them, the chin, cheeks and hollow of the cheeks, the forehead. I'm looking at my great-grandmother. I know one of her stories. She sailed to America at the turn of the twentieth century, only to return with her dying husband, bury him according to his wishes in the homeland, the current CZ, and find herself pregnant with my grandmother, in that order. My grandmother never met or had any photos of her father, but when asked was told to find him in the mirror.

the x's and arrows are my grandmother's

am carving them with her nail-grooming set

remembering

in studio playing pandora songs reminded of friends come and gone:

"we're going to be friends"- with Jason David
"save the last dance for me"- with Anitra Haendel
"angel from montgomery"- with Fletcher Boote

I realized this is more the studio work for tonight...

sketchbook

studies for 120 soaps