Here the forest has begun to unmake itself. The trees no longer stand still; they're sliding and shifting into the dark like slow black rain, their trunks stretched into silence screams, time has slipped its leash. If you stop between the streaks, you will feel the air turned thin as paper and you'll begin to hear your own heartbeat, echoing from somewhere distant and desolate. No one who crosses the veil fall is ever seen again on the side of the world; only their shadows sometimes flicker upward for a moment still walking, still searching for the way back.
Printed on Hahnemuhle Photo Rag, and as a Metal Print
Here the forest has begun to unmake itself. The trees no longer stand still; they're sliding and shifting into the dark like slow black rain, their trunks stretched into silence screams, time has slipped its leash. If you stop between the streaks, you will feel the air turned thin as paper and you'll begin to hear your own heartbeat, echoing from somewhere distant and desolate. No one who crosses the veil fall is ever seen again on the side of the world; only their shadows sometimes flicker upward for a moment still walking, still searching for the way back.
Printed on Hahnemuhle Photo Rag, and as a Metal Print