March 14, 2021

🧼 03.13.21

Springtime is all for precarious still lifes of the morning, full of fresh, wet fruit. I think my mouth waters more at the literal motions and movements, impatient with only the suggestions of them. I'm still trying to figure it out...

Where you stand at the anticipation of a spilling out of paint in Vollon's butter, I'm in the other room with a knife in hand, honey butter flicking off and onto the pan. I'm a hot knife, he's a pat of butter.

Smelly life! I do think often about how scent is tied to memory. Trying to hold onto the memory of a scent is like trying to describe the movements of a changing cloud in a 소나기.

~Y