About the Show
Land sky mountain water stream field forest. Abandoning the linear, you get lost wandering a world of edges. A world of margins and peripheries, boundaries and borders, thresholds and liminalities. A string drones, tensed so tightly it can be only heard. You are at a piercing precipice when the sound shows you to a bed of golden yarrow and lace baking in autumnal sun. <i>I feel that the language I live in does not have a word for this becoming, that the people I live among do not have an inkling what it is.</i> You traverse the decrepit suspension bridge of downed tree limbs and their vines, the spindly sinews of crunchy brown fiber, rough and crackling, to where everything meets: a canopy, a prairie; a sun, a moon; a breeze, a shelter; a bird, a snake; a corn field, a forest; a grave, a garden.