THE FIRE

// on this work //

No fire burns like an island fire. No competing light for miles in any direction. The wood is driftwood and fallen oak, salt-seasoned, burning hotter and stranger than forest wood. The flames are orange against absolute black. Those who attended the Ossabaw residency describe evenings exactly like this — the work done for the day, the island closing around the fire, the mainland impossibly far away and suddenly irrelevant. This is what the island offers as its most honest gift: this quality of night.

// full series //