Frustration eats away at me. The limitations on my mobility cage me. I need to to make journeys, touch materials, experience texture and lighting effects for my embryo artwork to grow. But I am confined to the radius of my powerchair; and the psychological effects are depressing. I hide in words. And I revisit artwork. Reinterpreting work digitally means the basic stuff is accessible, if only I wasn't working with a crip-computer. I see oceans; creative depths amazing beneath me; taunting,...

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