Until I started working on this image, I didn't know what was in it. Certainly some T.S. Eliot, from Preludes perhaps. And the intersection of organic and geometric shape. And a handwritten language of branches and shadows and tangles. A sanskrit of limbs and trees and night. And of course, a simple, visual distillation of winter.
"The worlds revolve like ancient women, Gathering fuel in vacant lots." --T.S. Eliot
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