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Maybe, it is my nine month old son who reminds me what my body is capable of. The grand and complex way we are made. The bodies intention to live, reproduce, and sustain other lives beyond its own. 

Maybe, it is my recent need to create with my hands. To layer my past works with a new ornamentation. Give them the freedom of a new chapter, risking failure that leaving a mark has no un-do button to rescue it. 

I have had this original collection of pieces for sometime. In which the characters seemed to be holding an unattended discussion with something missing. As I nurse my son it is unavoidable not to relate to other living things. Other animals whose basic needs are met to thrive just as his are by mine. Other animals which are thought to be less civilized than humans hold so much mystery to me. My identity in some realms relates to these primitive traits.