One day she plopped down a cooler full of meat dolls in our ‘Body and Its Excesses’ seminar. By the next critique her meat dolls had developed blue and black spots. It wasn’t long before Kathleen O’Shea and I began collaborating, often appearing as twins. We subjected gallery patrons to ‘alternative’ spa treatments, choreographed a wheelchair/stilt walking/rollerskating extravaganza to commemorate the downfall of Michael Jackson, convinced friends to be in our petting zoo, penned some insanely demented proposals, and whipped together a performance about the hybrid offspring of Kmart shoppers and extra terrestrials for our Poop Studios debut – all while running on fumes. It was a nice run though, we were there for each other during some rough patches, and although things got complicated between us, and regretfully so, I’m heartbroken to learn that she’s gone.