Each day I sat at the kids’ table Unravelled seven Rafflesias of padded fabric rejects, unexhibited, BiCentennial past. Each disc of Solo batik find a new form as a lion head. Second life as life size puppet, a child’s crown fit. Licking my wound, thinking of Cina Kapitan Tan JinSeng, Bupati in 1830 when Raffles invaded. In August a murmur of Chinese Privilege silenced. The Burmese and Vietnamese immigrant children took turns To test out the monster head, whose coat of scallo

In 2010 I made a Rorsharch out of a false start of lilies by the folding the wet painting into two. The result looks like a lions head. Subsequently I tried out another variation: of an overgrown stag horn fern that has travelled with me from LongIsland to Vermont. The pattern of the rorscharch seems to match the fauna, a chandelier or a crown of vertebrae, it became a game of trying to match right and left, alternating each fold with brushwork and charcoal. Chance vs intent,