Janessa Goldbeck

Washington, District of Columbia

Associate

Over time it occurs to me I am building a shed that will burn. Footer and sill, whatever I do flames blue and translates to ash. The nail shrieks as it enters the joist and streams out, shrieks and drips a metal tear from the elemental eye. What I do not know is here. I worship wood and the instant. What is over, I can never finish. The angel of work is sweat. And still as I move the brush many faces look back at me. The stain vanishing into the knot reminds me of something I forgot.