Kims. (This image on my desktop for 7 months)
The shirt was from Abbe, actually a gift from Romy to Abbe, it suited her --the polyester spikey-ness and peach shimmer—she would slap something like that on. But she left it because it did not fit in her suitcase. One of many garments that were left, but the others were heavier, more objects than something your body wants to have on it.
That shirt became a part of the studio. It just hung out in piles and on the shelf that was really a wood plank on some cinder block from a craphead project. That shirt was nothing but texture. It might cling to a body, but all it wanted to do was consider its own surface. It might change over the slopes of the breasts or over the rolling, rumbling tummy, but really it was just a texture, no matter what it went and did.
The shirt got stuck to the gator board with well-bond and the residue from the spray paint that makes the shape above it.
“This shirt is absolutely becoming.”