I really haven't.
In terms of art, I should be doing more.
However, I have become enamored of my sewing machine. So I guess I've become busy in that sense, I have been busy. I have some garments I think I will showcase soon. I am working on learning new things and experimenting with different fabrics, different styles. I'd like to glove a pair of cheap shoes in feathers, jewels, brocade... and I'm planning an excellent fascinator that will be lovely. It will be surmounted with the head of a black fox with eyes like emeralds and sharp white teeth. In a certain sense it's an art piece.

I love dead things. I love pelts, skins and bones. The lingering smell of sweat and oil on the fur from when it was still alive. The little eyelashes... the whiskers... the pebbled-nose-leather. For some reason, these things feel real to me, in a sea of fake things. So many things are worthless; these were once alive, they are no detritus, they were dear, they are precious.

I believe a certain set of things about meat, fur, bone. If you raise an animal, treat it kindly; provide for it. When you must kill it, you must kill it humanely--without undue stress or torture. And when you have it dead, you must use all of its parts; you must treasure its pelt, the garments you make, the meat you eat, the bones you boil--treasure and love and know and be thankful.