To Mina Wright Citron Rebecca Lloyd Behind every sawblade is a woman in grease stained blue jeans with headphones in shielding her ears from the orchestra of work. From the whirring pounding whining of the machines and instead surrounding her with the beauty and grace which comes from manicured hands dancing on the strings of a Stradivarius. Providing for her family by laboring with love. Either that or raising the man who did. But back to the woman, since man is not the subject here. In fact, his story is told literally everywhere else, but not here, not on this sawblade. This sawblade is traced then sliced from gleaming sheet metal which reflects the stories colors backgrounds and emotions Of women. Of those who hammered them into existence. Reflects me and my phone camera trying to capture art. Innocent eyes blissfully unaware that what I see as paint is her blood.
72 | Perception
