This place where the dead live is peaceful, private, untouched by modern man. I trace the path of family plots, brushing lichen-covered stones so old the weather has erased their owner’s name.
Layers and layers and layers beneath lies a rotting mess of wood and bone, nested in flitters of cloth.
The agony or glory of the soul unknown to the land above.
This place where the dead live is peaceful, private, untouched by modern man. I trace the path of family plots, brushing lichen-covered stones so old the weather has erased their owner’s name.
Layers and layers and layers beneath lies a rotting mess of wood and bone, nested in flitters of cloth.
The agony or glory of the soul unknown to the land above.
A3, Mixed media on Watercolour Paper Unframed, 2024
