It all started when...

Patch-Uncd. Joy.jpg

When I took a mask making workshop. My mask making partner did not press the plaster impregnated gauze onto my lips, but merely put a piece over them. The result: I had no mouth. 

She was very apologetic, but I said it must have something to do with the meaning of the mask. Later as I sat in my studio alone, holding the mask in my lap, a well of sadness surged up my legs and encompassed my whole body. I realized in my childhood of abuse, I had no voice.