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By Heart


Oil on canvas, projection, archive slide

My mom, my dad, my house are on this photo. Dad takes pictures, mom holds my hand, I hold a twice bitten apple. We are happy. I drew my mother’s skirt, blue and squared; I remember it so well, the red beret, and the black snow that I made lilac so that it would fit my mother’s jacket. I will always be there. I will never be there.

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