'bOrt

'bOrt the unloved.  'bOrt the unwanted.  'bOrt the embryonic clown.  Would have been the son of Scooch.  'bOrt preserved for the sake of science, in a jar.  Dead tissue speaks in a scaly whisper, a mandala of meat under the microscope: does evil begin in the womb?  "Out damn'd spot." cries Lady Macbeth.  And Macduff, "I from my mother's womb wast untimely ripped!"  The modern mantras of affluent power. 

All matter has consciousness, all matter vibrates. Preserved for eternity, 'bOrt is the  knower and keeper of secrets.  Look at his eyes.  No mere dead clump of hair to be blithely flushed down the toilet, he is animated with the mirthful knowledge of everything you want to hide from the world. 

They generally always deviate from the sketch.

Excerpt from the 'bOrt video w/Merzbow soundtrack.

Freshly squeezed 'bOrt.

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Fashion forward spine-revealing back-straps on jacket.

Soaked and sealed, arms open for the hug that will never come. 

Scooch

Scooch:  If you don't shit your pants, he'll shit them for you.

In an ongoing theme, I can only say this year hasn't been about procrastinating the felting projects, it's just been a year filled with travel, and teaching and studying yoga.  It's taken nearly all my time.  And it's been SO VERY GOOD.

In the meantime, before I resume where I left off with the Rust, Wood, and Wool projects, I first have to get a couple crazy clowns out of my system. 

Meet Scooch.  People that know Scooch best say he's so scary . . . that,  "If you don't shit your pants, he'll shit them for you."