I love the kitchen curtains: white duck cloth with cherries, a print that echoes the tattoos on my ankles. I ended up stitching them by hand, because I have no idea where my sewing machine in the rubble of boxes that are the cairn for my past life
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It was very real and raw emotionally, but also chronologically visceral. The way you played with time, it chopped up but experienced all at once, in fragments, made this feel so relatable but also personal.
And "the rubble of boxes that are the cairn for my past life," was such a brilliant image!
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