4 x 6. grocery box, fabric, trim, glue, paper
"..."that week, or that summer, or that year, but the time was coming when Fred's death would be stone-cold reality. That's how life works, even when there's not a fourteen-year gap between your age and your husband's, and oh what a nightmare and oh, what life.
"It is a f****** nightmare. It is life. Maybe life is a f******* nightmare."
Sent to Robert Varlez for his "His Death Kills Me" mail art call. From the It's Only a Book project in which I'm deconstructing my 2003 book, Grace: A Memoir, and turning it into art.
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