Without intent. The island. The lake in the foreground. The forest in the background. The sky.
The sky goes chest-first into the lake. The forest goes in backwards. Out there: call it overdose. Call it overwhelming. Goes in backwards. The light on Dublin, on New York, on Toronto, on St. John’s, on the rocks just under the surface of the lake. The place is of the geometrical. Infected frames. The real world and the human world.
Out there and in here.
The lines drawn are undrawing themselves. You lift your phone, take the shot, and the landscape is pulled inside your palm where you can hold it like a pear. Now: inside your hand is the water. The light in the water. You send it away.