“black is the color of my true love’s hair”

 wool fabric, metal fasteners, monofilament

It was a lifetime ago, when I felt the mist of salt, on the black rock of home, I walked on into the beautiful black ocean. The body feels it’s loss, and the body knows it is gone.
”black is the color of my true love’s hair” is an interpretation of love and loss. The process of mourning is a nuanced experience, the same, but incredibly different for everyone. Trauma to
the mind manifests physically, affecting our musculature, our neck, our back, our joints, our posture, our hearts. When I believe I’ve gotten a hold and have captured the root, something breaks free of the containment, and healing becomes endless.