As her hair dries it starts to shine red. She wheels through the crowd with a confidence that would part the way if this wasn’t New York City. She brings us to her studio in Brooklyn. The way there Eric and I help her with the chair, up and down stairs. Her legs can do stairs. To think she does this without help is humbling and even more so in lieu that she accepts the help when it’s there. A tough city facade turns into a wide beautiful smile as we enter the studio. The people and the space are attractive and capturing. Not a layman’s image of the circus. Erin goes to stretch as Devon, Eric, and I perch on a couch. Birds on a ledge trying to make sense of the activity above. A few minutes run their course and Erin is soon suspended in the air on two pieces of silk. A elegant punk. Fuck the ground. Of most things one will see from day to day this makes more sense than the usual. Grace is a thing and it has dyed hair, a dog named Foxy, a great collection of books, and a gross sense of humour.
Silks (Day 176: 01/05/13)
01 May This entry was published on 01/05/2013 at 11:42 and is filed under Uncategorized.