March 2020 Pt. 2

So many emotion laid bare in the only language i feel comfortable using to express. My lack of complexity, depth of knowledge, a baby crying in their crib for food. I feel so immature, yet bursting with so much that needs to get out. How do I divide, subdivide, title, categorize what amounts to a waterfall of momentary mood swings. Do my memories hide in the lines, my heart in the colors, my identity in how it all flows together?


This is the second part of what happened in March of 2020. Spray paint, acrylic, ink, my crass tools to open the lock to my own mind. On paper, they range from 8.5x11.75 to 11x15.

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