Teresaface

She arrived clutching a largish balljar. It was wrapped in red rags and a towel. She had had it on her lap on the plane from Minneapolis to SFO. She told me we had collected them on a beach in California when she was little and now there they were in my kitchen. The shells were varied, non- descript, yet clearly not store bought. It was to be part of the art project, part of the mosaic in the sculpture she wanted to design on the weekend. We were getting ready to take a class with a funky arty material call Darjit at the Mosaic Institute of Art in Oakland.