This piece was supposed to look different. Between when I laid down the background collage and when I started making marks and securing found objects on top of it, my mom ended our relationship. When I was a kid she abused her power over me. She didn't mean to. I became independent as fast as I could, removing all material leverage my parents had in my early 20s and getting the fuck out of Illinois. Only recently was I able to mostly steel myself against her emotionally. I guess she hasn't liked that very much. At first, when she said she was done with me, I felt relief. I felt power. I didn't let myself break down for almost two weeks. Until yesterday, walking on Venice Beach, foraging. With every spec of trash, aloud, "Fuck you, Mom." Discarded children's toys, a melted lighter, an earplug. And with every shell: "I love you Mom, I'm very sorry."