miranda l roussel    artist
The rag that she used to wipe away the last layer of paint
Like lace but taking away
When things decay
into a structure of holes, layer upon layer of webbing.
The structure of decay.
It drapes and falls and the light shines briefly through the holes.
The back is discreetly seen when the wind blows just so
And my feeling is of eyelets, embroidery bordered holes, showing a peak at what is underneath.
Lace and doilies, made by grandmothers. Intentional holes.
Sacred geometry, microscopic molecules in the same basic patterns making up every thing.
Moulder, antiquated gutter punks.