Veins of Earth

Something has opened in the earth. A horizontal darkness runs across the center — not a shadow, not a horizon, but an absence. A place where the surface gave way.

On either side of it: the same dense vertical world, flowing lines that read as bark, or grain, or the slow movement of water through stone. The texture above mirrors the texture below so precisely that you can't be sure which side you are on — whether you're looking at the earth or into it. Whether what you're seeing is structure, or its reflection.

At the edge of the dark band, a vile opening. A wedge of light, or a stone, or something that arrived here and stayed. It is the only thing in the entire print that doesn't repeat. Which makes it impossible to stop looking at.

In this art print, I explore the intricate designs of tree bark, branches, and natural voids.

Jolanta