After she became bored with paper, she painted every surface she could find.
At first it was the bathroom mirror, a mountain range in shades of burgundy and brick red, her mother’s lipsticks decimated to stubs.
Next it was the garage door, this time with permission, which she turned into a tulip field, ablaze with reds, yellows and purples, a windmill based on the only one she had ever seen at Wicken Fen.
Most recently, she painted buttons, innocuous, everyday items bought to life by kaleidoscopic patterns.
When no one was looking, she sewed them onto clothes in charity shops.
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