elizabeth herrmann on the right side of its monkey bars.
e came to mica from florida with dreams of teaching padawan designers from her soapy mfa box. braving nicotine rainbows and sinkgrunge, she built a sniper’s nest a few blocks from mica and sat manifestering through her first year.
e is a loudmouth but
e is quiet.
e writes louder than you. her chemistry features equal parts hormones, black powder, and bravado. after deconstructing printmaking in a dark alley with naught but an acerbic tongue gilded in love, this fishnet-shredding inkslinger opened a genetic-experimentation facility aimed toward further grafting of dirty design and reality.
e wrote a novel from her sniper’s nest, a coming of age tale with an immaculate corpse in its closet and her virginity pole dancing on its main stage. stroke & fill. humanity written as design for connection. graphic design with inflatables performing puppetry. the
ebook printshop turned screenprinting and
bookmaking into twin burlesque dancers as thesis year became thesis show and the department’s high priestess of pro-proliferation slaughtered the new black to paint
personal portraits as prone plastic prostitutes. please play, said
e. flip my pages in time to my hair in time to my hips. re:re:wind. from the sniper’s nest came contemplations of thought. design school master’s program: “i’m gonna write a book.” as the steamroller thinks on the flattened friends, so turned
e into her own building catastrophe. ‘neath the pendulum she edited the pit’s contents feverishly while simultaneously hand-binding her characters into neonloud books.
e likes books. after tucking thesis in for the night, she stole away to her genetic-experimentation tools and raised the monstrous
big ass book and mystery
un[full]filled books from the collated parts of her own narrative. the future is film and she proved it, proved it all over the
wall. returning to her womb of stale cigarettes, she sits and reloads.