“Some nights in the midst of this loneliness I swung among the scattered stars at the end of the thin thread of faith alone.”
― Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow
Tree is a mixed media canvas anchored by a solitary evergreen standing in a quiet field. Pale sky presses in from every side, leaving the tree exposed in a calm that feels almost emptied out. Gold lines cross the surface in measured intervals, a silent staff pulled tight across the scene. Along these lines, circles appear as fragments of the circle of fifths, some threaded and complete, others left hollow. Only a few hold the suggestion of sound. The rest remain mute, like notes that never made it from thought to voice. Red stitches pull across two of the circles, a thin signal of life moving through an otherwise still composition. The piece echoes the isolation of major depressive disorder, where the world remains present yet distant, and music that should surround you fades into a series of unplayed chords. Tree rests in that suspended measure, where the thin thread of faith is not loud, only quietly unbroken.
“Some nights in the midst of this loneliness I swung among the scattered stars at the end of the thin thread of faith alone.”
― Wendell Berry, Jayber Crow
Tree is a mixed media canvas anchored by a solitary evergreen standing in a quiet field. Pale sky presses in from every side, leaving the tree exposed in a calm that feels almost emptied out. Gold lines cross the surface in measured intervals, a silent staff pulled tight across the scene. Along these lines, circles appear as fragments of the circle of fifths, some threaded and complete, others left hollow. Only a few hold the suggestion of sound. The rest remain mute, like notes that never made it from thought to voice. Red stitches pull across two of the circles, a thin signal of life moving through an otherwise still composition. The piece echoes the isolation of major depressive disorder, where the world remains present yet distant, and music that should surround you fades into a series of unplayed chords. Tree rests in that suspended measure, where the thin thread of faith is not loud, only quietly unbroken.
