An impromptu portrait birthday present.

Here is a hand drawn dress. It is an American Apparel size small, long sleeve, turtle neck with heat set fabric ink. It is stretchy. Thanks for looking. This item is sold.

Even that which goes, even that which is absent seen clearly, as clarity exists ever present, there can be no reality to the confusion, the sense that what comes and goes, there can be no form to that which is absent, for we have the power and this power can not be owned yet is held somehow, inexplicably without pressure, the sensations of pressure and letting go reduce to physical impulses, that by which our loss of the idea is the only true loss somehow can mirror in the stream of time a finality to its disappearance and correctness to it having gone.

I know that I do not know. Thank you for your assistance in these matters. I am lost again, but it does not seem to carry significance. Just looking is all that can be done. If you notice it, the biggest apparatus is looking. More powerful than physical movements or telling an idea. Without vision there is still sight, looking at no vision. I can not believe it sometimes. Something is here, then I ignore it and it is gone. Making art is that. If I ignore it... it is gone.

Love must be the experience of loss. So is this love for the idea ? The loss of the idea. In one focus range all the beautiful things on continuum roll on along, manifesting, and the verse range destroys. I'll imagine climbing out, aside the waste wreckage from the past. I am above. There is one beautiful thing in the breast. We are infinite expanse, yet not in a multiplicity. The we defines us. There is no us for it has all failed, even the misery is not. When viewed the most miserable disappears and fades. Thank you miserable ones, and beautiful ones... from the bottom of my heart. okay.

Here I am modeling a shirt that I made. It is a size small / heat set fabric ink applied with paint markers.

The direct simplicity. Complexity as an idea generated through thought in the moment. As I assemble and cut and drill, an awareness of no connection is felt as separate and distant from what is. There is dust on things, there are loose ends. There is an awareness of things not working out, yet there is no one for whom this happens. When one looks at "it" there is obviously no beginning and no end. Thus space is felt or not felt. Success and failure relinquish to not even having individual meanings apart from the interrelatedness of their own relationship.