Forest Signs (2025)
What if trees have their own names? Not oak or birch — something older. 9 sheets, ink on paper. Not portraits. Signs.
An attempt to restore a lost dialogue.
An attempt to restore a lost dialogue.
The Facets of Myth:
Forest Signs (2025)
9 sheets, paper, coloured ink, brush
What if trees have names? Not the ones we gave them — oak, pine, birch. Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other.
I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind.
Then I tried to write down what I heard. Not portraits or illustrations, but Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique — like a name in a language no one speaks anymore.
It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right.
Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree.
Not postcards from nature. A vocabulary for the non-human world.
9 sheets, paper, coloured ink, brush
What if trees have names? Not the ones we gave them — oak, pine, birch. Their own names. The ones they would use to call each other.
I spent time in forests, not as a tourist. I sat. I watched. One tree, then another. The rhythm of its branches. The map of its bark. The way it holds itself against the wind.
Then I tried to write down what I heard. Not portraits or illustrations, but Signs. Abstract symbols, each one unique — like a name in a language no one speaks anymore.
It's an attempt to restore a lost dialogue. Old shamans believed that to name something is to make contact. I think they were right.
Each sheet is ink on paper. Simple. Almost scientific. But inside that simplicity — hours of looking, listening, breathing with a single tree.
Not postcards from nature. A vocabulary for the non-human world.
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