There was a maze of abandoned buildings near my home that I'd
frequently wander in search of inspiration and solitude. The poetic,
decaying landscape provided the perfect backdrop for photographing my
wooden cutouts. And besides the cardinals that inhabited the area, it
was always just me and my artworks. Alone in this place of stories.
One crisp October day, I brought this painting of a little reaper and
set it down in the parking lot. At that moment, a brisk wind passed
through, plucking the red leaves from vines overhead and cradling them
in a dance to the ground. A spiraling waltz toward their end as the
asphalt burst into flames at the reaper’s feet. This is what I saw. Or
maybe imagined. Who knows, I suppose stranger things have happened.
