From the City into Trees & Dark Forest

From the City into Trees

This digital print of the original work of the same title is also the closest version to the original. In this work I add photographs and the colour I felt was missing in the original work. Black paint has also been added to some images to lift the flatness of the digirtal printing.

From the City into Trees

Working with Peter Lyssiotis, a version was cut and the pages flipped so the edge to edge drawing was broken up and white spaces were introduced. From one printing of the work the pages were split to form two smaller zines and text was added. One zine retained the original title. The second zine was titled Night-walker. Both are included in The Botanikos Project.


Dark Forest
2009 (with Peter Lyssiotis)

this forest is our bones
this forest is our blood
now, the forest is on fire
our hearts are in this forest they burn, too
we burn together the forest burns
our dreams are in this dark forest and now they burn as well
this dark forest is our very breath and not it’s burning
it burns we burn together
when the rain falls
when the wind drops
these burnt dreams will vanish and
this dark forest will grow
green again

A unique copy with hand written text, inked pages and frottage.

Dark Forest

It was particularly hot and he noticed the forest was gone. All the trees had been felled. He went and found his wife. She was stooped by a huge pile of timber working with the axe and then with the saw. She had built a pyre.
“Why did you cut down the trees?” he asked.
At first she did not answer. Then she said, “You were spending too much time in the forest.”

He watched her light the fire. When the flames caught and the wood began to crackle she began to throw larger pieces of wood onto the pyre. The smoke was thick because the wood was so green. He watched his wife, her hands moving and noticed they were smeared with blood. He was too frightened to stop her.

He saw her in the smoke. She smiled and said, “I loved you completely.” And she closed her eyes.
He didn’t know what to say or do.
She looked at him again. She smiled. “Did you know that only the living need heaven? The dead need nothing.”
Then she was gone.

“We are better off without her,” said his wife.
He walked away from the house, away from his wife tending the fire, into the desert. He collected small stones. When he had a handful he sat down and took a pencil out of his pocket. On every stone he wrote a word.