|Title of work||
Our land lies low. The air is thick with remnant ghosts of a world that came before. Organic mass crawls forth, unfolding as fog would across a lake. It breathes. Fragile birds rain from the sky, decaying before they land. The glittering haze of disintegrating death suspended, in zero gravity. Cells become vines, vines become veins and veins become rope; that guides, that binds, that offers and submits. ‘Breathe with me,’ it asks, ‘feel my skin against your face. Watch me as I trace your absent form.’ ‘Hold me,’ it asks, ‘guide me into life’. ‘See me as the beauty in the thorns.’ Cognizance arrives, persistent and sharp. Bodies emerge from the mass. Voyagers and heralds grasp hands as they stride across the dark. Tracing landscapes, leaving footfalls and breathing from the past. Part system and part science-fiction, Thorn creates an evolving landscape for a brave new world. Drawing a wavering line between fantasy and reality, the work is a small study of humans, nature and human nature.