We make art out of our loss.

Mystery is part of each life, and maybe it is healthier to uphold it than to spend a lifetime in search of half-made answers.

The crocodile doesn't harm the bird that cleans his teeth for him. He eats the others but not that one.

We make art out of our loss.

Death is dancing me ragged.

Between earth and earth's atmosphere, the amount of water remains constant; there is never a drop more, never a drop less. This is a story of circular infinity, of a planet birthing itself.

There is a language beyond human language, an elemental language, one that arises from the land itself.