at our funerals we wear white. Performed: SomoS
Documentation by Zander Porter

“Lately, I’ve built up an impressive collection of white, off-white, and cream. I open my suitcase and white stares back at me. White hats, white shirts, white pants, white shoes. I think about how I need to find a white jacket for the fall. Think about my off-white fur coat that I got for the winter. I work at a cheese shop in all white, walk to the subway in all white, do the dishes in white. I wipe soap spuds over white plates, wash them in warm water and make sure nothing sticks to my white. I walk into the shop and my boss says that I look like I am a part of a religious order in the bayous of Louisiana. Maybe I am mourning again or this is a ritual of forgetting. I throw myself into my work, become a ghost floating through a little shop in Park Slope. In my absentmindedness I cut my finger on the meat slicer but remember to wipe the blood on a piece of tissue and the grease on my apron. I am immaculate.