Molly Greene is a visual artist, writer and interdisciplinary scholar currently based in New Haven, Connecticut. Her visual work usually takes the form of painting, printmaking, fiber arts, and sculpture. Molly writes about nature, science, technology, humans, non-humans, gender, futurism, and speculative fiction. She also works collaboratively with the The Royal Frog Ballet, making stories, sculptures, installations and performance art. Molly was born and raised in Cornwall, VT and is currently a doctoral student in the American Studies Program at Yale University where she is completing a collection of illustrated short stories. 


How lonely to feel un-homed in a single body. There are so many more of me and only one for walking around, for speaking through. Yet my selves and shapes are shifting. I need all of these speculative subjects if I am to flourish in a future wildness (not wilderness). And so I’m thieving cyborg myths. All I want is a utopian body.

I have lost touch with whose side I’m on. I have lost faith in the relevance of my own skin and am already full of metal. Natural, unnatural, supernatural (and who will signal the breaches). I am wondering how to make a world, and how to benignly grow inside of it. And so I am inventing new sensory organs.

This is a portal. This is a wager. The future is where form is given to present fictions. I speak the simultaneity of past/present/future through the time-space of my home-body. And I could not finish myself (even if I wanted to). I have heard that this feeling of excess would go away if I re-formed it into a child, but I have failed at desire. Fertility without procreation. I try to trace the ontological status of these absurd and latent bodies but I get stalled. Mother.

There was a wild woman lurking in the old stories, but where is she now that I need her? I am scanning the edge of the clearing. I need an archetype to live in, so I search for her in unkempt solitude, homing among the non-humans.