touch a touch a touch me

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there are times when the cerebral and divine realms just can’t soothe my soul. when that happens… i need to escape the digital and get my hands filthy as fuck.  i require some dirt to dig in, the cool smoothness of my beads, the tackiness of half-dried paint, the acrid slick of nail polish transforming my fingies into shimmering weapons of mass creation.  i find beauty and hotness and deliciosity in transforming broken toasters into shrines to the ancient baltic gods. physical creation turns me from a mere moral into a fairy godmother into a straight-up god. it’s a tactile form of deep meditation, a communion between my body, spirit, and the raw materials of my art.


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