Portable Ground 2011 digital photographs mounted on sintra, found snapshots and altered tchotchkes, framed text and cinder blocks
Father never told me the higher you climb, the colder the climate gets. He was my history teacher
the year I got my first period. The year I fell in love with crispy leaves. He was
On a rooftop in Cincinnati.
I was mining the sea.
Land animals have salty blood, which proves I am from Ohio.
I was standing on tiptoes, looking for mouthparts, the day the mountain moved.
After the ceremony I took my hand.
We climbed into the distributary, which was rapidly growing with extremaphiles and curiosity harborors.
