And I stripped my body, tore the cloth into ribbons
for closing wounds. Just a walk in the morning and
the body: brightened: the severity painted in red, on
skin on fabric: the new wardrobe and color scheme.
Everything comes down to fashion. I have heard
parents do whatever they can to save their children,
but what happens to the orphan. Cotton and color did
what they could to save me. Not red but rusty scab:
when skin fails: what else can orphans cling to. The
patches. This body became a collage: interactive,
environmental. A prod, a word, and the artwork
changes, the mood darkens, the color brightens, then
fades. In front of me: an audience with brushes,
scalpels.