Finally getting to a space to share some new work. “Infinity with Bells” recycled plastic, bottle tops, bells, pins, finger prints, sound healers home grown smudge, and studs woven into a small spell for movement, noise, and return. May what is lost find its way back. Thanks for looking.
The world has been feeling a bit like a beast lately.
So I brought an old alter ego back out in this mask.
Another small shout to help my friend and teacher Anom and his family with travel expenses so they can make the journey to Santa Fe for the folk art fair.
If you feel moved to support, the link is in the bio.
Sharing helps too.
In the meantime, let’s keep making space for love, art, and the old spirits that still guide our hands.
PS shout to @pleasedontlookmeup for this iron oak natural dye he made that I used to paint this mask!!!
Year of the Fire Horse with my house, never thought I’d be lucky enough to have two ride or dies, but here we are!!! Showing off some all new @theziran dripping ✨ @rafaelabmaia 📷
My second mask was born from a caterpillar flute pulled from the belly of a buzzing bee piñata at my nephew’s first birthday.
I’ve started a GoFundMe to support my friend, teacher, and master carver, performer, puppeteer, and pemangku as he brings his family to join the International Folk Art Market in Santa Fe.
This gathering is more than a fair it’s a living altar of tradition, devotion, and hand memory.
All info + link in bio.
Anything helps, even a repost.
Thank you.
Galloping, shedding skin
like sliced flesh from bone
a sleeping horse cry
as the snake unravels beneath hooves
in the throat of time.
Crystal in the wound.
Fire in the breath.
We ride the turning,
burning clear,
soon the new lunar year.
@bob.is.in 📸 👁️
Wood remembers.
Hands remember.
Lineage remembers.
Grateful to learn beside my dear friend Anom.
Let’s help his family cross oceans with their story.
Santa Fe awaits.
Link in bio. Share the link. Everything helps. 🙏
A face lifted from the ground,
packed clay and breath
the earth still warm where it remembers hands.
Eyes cut as apertures,
not to see out
but to let the mountain look back.
Shoulders rise in armor
leaves like swords,
fibrous, scarred, each spine a lesson in patience.
He walks carrying soils name,
red dust stitched into muscle,
steps sounding like a prayer chewed slowly.
This is not disguise.
This is the land
learning a body,
standing up for a moment,
then moving on.
I build soft skeletons
that refuse to choose a species.
Even when they are me.
They hang like unfinished thoughts
caught between ceiling and the bottom of breathe
now rehearsing eternity
in a slow costume of glue and patience. I never like the way it fits.
I trust the awkward join,
the visible seam,
the place where two wrong things
learn to live as one body.
The room turns into a lung.
These forms inhale the eyes of judging strangers.
and as always what remains is me.
The wall learns to breathe.
A mouth made of minerals,
licked open
womb-bright,
I pressed my eyes to it
and tasted old oceans.
Every grain a small tooth.
Every crystal a frozen tear
from a season that had no language.
Here is the doorway
that does not lead out
but further in.
Hands disappear inside their own making.
Skin remembers being water.
Water remembers being star.
From this rough halo
something begins again
not clean, not finished,
but honest as birth.
Salt reborn a state of anima
