I employ rhythms of tinyness, banality, and fugitivity.
I'm interested in frequencies below spectacle: of mud, ice, fungi, the mold on your soufflé.

In a culture of celebrity, my characters inhabit the uncelebrated: trunks, cellars, vaginas, and caves. Kitchens, graves, trashcans, and bathtubs.

In a culture of hyper-fluorescence, my work relishes the dark, dingy, and discarded.
Give me dusk. Give me dawn. Give me a candle, a desk lamp, or a light bulb on its last, flickering legs. 
My name is Jenna Horton. I am the bastard babe of Julia Child and Jean Genet.  I claim anarchic delight and earthy despair as my chromosomes, X and Y. Cheers to every idiot and their wild stupidity and courage in attempting to create a home in which to live. You're fucking beautiful.