You are soft like velvet, baby. You see me and I see you. All the layers, all the facades melt away. We strip it down, we take them off. We come together. Not through our phones, not through a text, not through a FaceTime, but physically. It is so unusual. I hadn’t touched another being for so long, for an eternity. I used to lay in bed and see them in my head, all the ones I longed for. I would conjure up the sensation, trying my hardest to remember how someone felt near me, on me, in me. The clocked stops when you arrive. We transcend time, we become other. You got rhythm, you make me move, baby. You are different, you are alien. You are me.

@ M. LeBlanc Gallery, Chicago April 29-June 14, 2018

Essay by Marie Heilich