Things grow. Little thoughts I might follow. A leafy path, scattered and pressed slick with the tired, soppy air. And fragrant with all that thrives and dies. In the space between each footprint, each effort, each color. I press myself into the mud of my experiences and Blossom again. 2/19/2021

Lost Journal Pages made for the Brooklyn Art Library Sketchbook Project: I spent part of the pandemic and beyond working with pen, ink, paper, and watercolor within my journal. When finished, I scanned it, put it into a priority mail envelope, and mailed it to the organization. It never arrived, and when my project never showed in their inventory list, I dug out the scanned files to send to them. This is one of the pages from that lost journal (destroyed, stolen, lost?). Available only as a print upon request.