Fragile scarred skin covers the memories of entwined things. Bodies that have become vessels for interlaced narratives, unraveled, revealed. If you follow the lines of the folds with your fingertips, closely, delicately, you can almost feel the vibrations of the sounds of the warm wind blowing through the fields at harvest time. Listen to the voices of the things that grew, that made, that became. They tell stories of germination, transformation and decay; they turned the sunlight in their bones to stone, fossilized memories of vibrant life.
There is an inexhaustible tension between weft and grain, between the human and non human, webbing of emotional elasticity as I map the entangled memories of territories and matter. The cloth of things can be torn, the skin of things can be stretched too thin.