51 Years (and whitey’s still on the moon)
Oil and thread on canvas
I remember the first time I couldn’t protect my child. No matter how many towels we jammed into the cracks on our window frames and under closed doors, toxic air hung in our apartment and filled her perfect lungs. Everything was burning, both literally and metaphorically. The sky was red, our heads throbbed, and Elon Musk sent a rocket into space.