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Image 1 of 1
Image 1 of 1
89 x 66cm
Acrylic on paper
August 2026
Sunset turns the sky to fire as she approaches the jungle. She is Kai, a warrior of the Quashtoon tribe and she fears no man. Blood stains her ebony handled spear and her shield is scarred by many blades.
The palm trees have become silhouetted and dark, trunks weaving together back and further back into a complicated mass. The tall grasses rustle as small creatures rush for cover and the cricket noises cease as she passes.
The wraith-like plants loom up at her suddenly, making her start and gasp. White tendrils, fine as hair wave around a central moonflower. Each plant has a slim central stem fully twelve feet tall, with multiple offshoots. The spectral plants are untethered by roots and surround her in a heady ring of scent and velvet petals.
It comes on the night breeze, a song of mourning, sweet and low and so sad she finds herself weeping for the lost soul. The unearthly plants sway with the music, their leaves making complicated patterns in the air. Suddenly they part and she sees before her a village, her village, as clear as day. And a procession of bent-shouldered elders walking away from a smoldering funeral pyre. She sees her mother crying and her heart-husband Bail holding their baby son...
Dropping her spear she sinks to her knees. Because she knows now.
The song is for her.
89 x 66cm
Acrylic on paper
August 2026
Sunset turns the sky to fire as she approaches the jungle. She is Kai, a warrior of the Quashtoon tribe and she fears no man. Blood stains her ebony handled spear and her shield is scarred by many blades.
The palm trees have become silhouetted and dark, trunks weaving together back and further back into a complicated mass. The tall grasses rustle as small creatures rush for cover and the cricket noises cease as she passes.
The wraith-like plants loom up at her suddenly, making her start and gasp. White tendrils, fine as hair wave around a central moonflower. Each plant has a slim central stem fully twelve feet tall, with multiple offshoots. The spectral plants are untethered by roots and surround her in a heady ring of scent and velvet petals.
It comes on the night breeze, a song of mourning, sweet and low and so sad she finds herself weeping for the lost soul. The unearthly plants sway with the music, their leaves making complicated patterns in the air. Suddenly they part and she sees before her a village, her village, as clear as day. And a procession of bent-shouldered elders walking away from a smoldering funeral pyre. She sees her mother crying and her heart-husband Bail holding their baby son...
Dropping her spear she sinks to her knees. Because she knows now.
The song is for her.