Morgan Ann Marshall


Some Projects —
2017-19 
  1. Posters.
  2. Counter Mag.
  3. Made to Dance in Burning Buildings.
  4. Close Encounters of the Academic Kind.
  5. Lost & Found Residency. 
  6. Some Parts Withheld- an Exhibition.

Some Writings —
2018-19
  1. I Draw Them Pink.
  2. My Heart on a Sunday.
  3. A Facade, Perhaps.
  4. All The Unknowns.
  5. Holy Mirror, Look at Yourself. 
  6. Moss is Growing in And On My Body.

Collaboration —
a working definition.
  1. The action of working with someone to produce or create something. Sometimes I ask the bus driver to fold my ticket in half. Together we made a folded bus pass. I asked the woman sitting next to me for an idea. She gave me three oranges that hald already been peeled. Bare and confused I felt bad for them. I ate two and half and offered her back the remains. She sucked the juices and left the remains of the remains on the seat. We produced and/or created something that day.




Mark
i love wind chimes more than i should
because you hate them
and they deserve extra love
whether it be dark or dark
they stop moving when i’m alone
the red red red paint
driving to the desert
mushrooms and sage
we collected things that weren’t ours
silence
she’s falling asleep
E will sleep on the outside
tonight because
sh
be quiet.
inhale. don’t.
if you release your shoulders
you’ll feel that day again
on your neck
you’ll feel that love
she was my sister
morning bruises it
doesn’t begin to describe
shiny things and taking strangers money
i’ll miss that
right before we go in
six smoke breaks
listen to him vent he’s three times your age
rub their head
rub their heart
sticky dizzy
you can count to twenty five in your sleep
you’re done
go to sleep
she’s falling asleep
your mother
your new friend
dried breathe in the windowsill
plastic thank you bags
hanging in her window
how old really are you
ancient to me
she reads she reads
she listens
your sister has been hurt
the window hasn’t stayed open since
the summer I moved in
stand alone by the track
your sister has a wet face
she’s twisting her rings in circles
now listen.
you’re not anyone else
a facade perhaps
you orchestrate for the ones you love
soft hair never in front of her ears
you would hide when you were little too
not from me
maybe from the idea though
things are budding
we are not
soft moss I don’t even like the earth
where did you go
Mo