Sorting rocks from beans until she kills all desire, Ethel carries a shovel as if she really knows how to dig a grave. When she is let loose inside the orchard, she is a wide-eyed god, dehydrated and convulsing. Nailed to the ground, laughing with the sun in her eyes, she is dreaming of a videotape about an even more disposable fashion. Fashioning a wound or planning for gestalt, out in the field or trapped in the cloisters, she fingers the firmament and role-plays a joy, then vomits all over the sanctuary carpet.

Find out more here