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TANGLED 2017, Oil on Canvas, 81" x 89"

What she isn't

Spins spine meet

tender knuckles

awe

iridescent lime

"mine"

velvet tentacles

juice on spike

HOT.

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Walls of Goo 2017

 

Cheeks swollen

dried grapes in Mandarin, firm

what it means to be a woman

staring out the windows North

ghosts of obsession creeping through the lush… hills

old friend, I know you too well

what was the cure?

 

A week before I raised my heart beat

a week since my butt’s been stuck to this flat soft surface

five to ten hours a day by choice

every gas station has a mirror taken advantage of more than the average gaze

looking for evidence

thicker thighs, ripples in skin, excess lines bellow butt

searching for judgment

jumping and turning to catch each angle in movement

documenting encrypted errors

still hopeful, ten years of spitting nutrition and still hopeful

endless variation of flesh circumference and still hopeful.

 

I went for a jog at midnight, didn’t shower after because there was cat-poop in some stranger’s bathtub

I feel better with wet hair on my dripping pillow under the roof of a Toyota

than inside my body untouched, untortured

but really, I don’t think I’m sick

the female body is the disease I’m wearing

or is it wearing me...

I’m starting to think that being a woman is to squeeze your body into the mold of a child.

 

am I hopeful that age will make me younger?

am I hopeful because… I have the ambition of a yoyo

that my friends and boyfriends have called me a goldfish

despite these insecurities, I am confident that I am confident

despite the anxious gushing cry within the walls of goo each time I stare into the silver…

still hopeful.

 

Clit 2014, Oil on Canvas, 11" x 17"

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Cake 2015, Oil on Canvas, 38" x 38"

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Honey 2016, Oil on Canvas, 60" x 36"

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East Village 2014, Oil on Canvas, 40" x 30"

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 Lust 2016, Oil on Canvas, 30" x 40"

Lust.jpg

 

 

 

 

February 2018

 

I shifted back and forth on his soft foam mattress. 

Cold and sweaty, untouched,

in and out of a more familiar “us,”

to my dismay, the “us” that’s still attached to my nerves.

He wasn’t tender nor good, nor harmless.

He wasn’t the body resting an inch from my shoulder

inked in warmth and every color but green,

but the hollow shadow hours away on all fours.

I can’t remember how the story begins or ends,

but it was cold and uncertain as he was in all chapters.

Lust was love deluded in commitment.

Seasons past settling on what we could never have.

It's odd isn't it, 

how memories sit inside of us and spill 

as dreams saturated on canvas

never premature, 

never fully forgotten. 

 

RedTube 2016, Oil on Canvas, 44" x 30" 

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Inside Out 2015, Oil on Canvas, 40" x 28"

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Mask 2015, Oil on Canvas,

14" x 22"

Mask.jpg

I Felt disgusting in private, but a delicate flower in public. 

Chameleon. 2018. Oil on Canvas. 33" x 22"

Now..jpg

2017, Oil on Canvas, 36" x 24"

花.jpg

Blóm 2017, Oil on Canvas, 36" x 24"

Blóm.jpg

Subconscious 

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Gemini 2018, Oil on Canvas, 7" x 7"

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Behind Curtains 2018, Oil on Canvas, 7" x 7"


Culture Shock

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West meets East 2010, oil on canvas, 45" x 31"

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Absent Participant 2010, Oil on Canvas, 18" x 45" 

screaming face.jpg
 

Rite of Passage 2012, oil on canvas, 65" x 21"

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Strangers 2012, Oil on Canvas, 38" x 26"

Strangers.jpg

Masks 2011, Oil on Canvas, 28" x 28"

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