If I close my eyes and envision a slowing of life, I see yellow, rust, brown, crumpling, drying, cracking, flaking, arms outstretched in an effort to absorb the last of sun's rays. I smell mold, must, decomposing soil, and then my nostrils fill with dust. When I envision a sudden end, I see dark, vacant spaces. I am suddenly buried but I'm not scared, and it isn't quiet. There's a constant scratching sound, like insects moving specks of sand, worms wriggling through dirt, birds pecking for seed. I fall into a deep slumber, waiting for roots to envelope me as they grow into new life.
Much of my recent work has been inspired by death and rebirth, new beginnings, the warmth of sun beckoning seeds to sprout through ashes. Rather than focus on the dismal, I try to unveil nature's way of leaving room for new growth.