Red. The color of hearts, blood held by life, spilt by pain, cycled by the months of women. The color of poppies, the red bullfighting cape, lips and tomatoes, apples. Little Red Riding Hood. This red is a prayer book of sorts, a matrimony of things made and lived—clothing worn by women, recycled, restitched, adorned. Twelve months to a year, twelve pages. A gathering.
