N.S. David sees unicorns on Main Street and leprechauns on Hill – N.S. David realizes she’s just a little bit delusional. This is why she paints, this is why she photographs; she harbors the hope that she can prove to her brethren that fairytales are more than just stories – she wishes to make her delusions real.
Born 26 years ago, N.S. David has never formally pursued art outside of the midnight hour of her home. Currently, she is tumbleweeding through the vastness of Los Angeles, fully employed as a student of its vibgyoric whimsy.
Le Premier Homme L'Homme Révolté
language as navigation
deep roots are not reached by the forst
Hard like winter wet like rain
I was once a boy
there is no waiting for us
Nameless (or, forever a stranger to myself)
life is no way to treat an animal
Irish Singer Scottish Puerto Rican Mexican Black
carried on fog exorcised out the lips