Effigy & Dew
I was watching a tiny fern unfurl and wondered if plants have secret stories that sculptures could tell.
The fern unfurls like a shy secret, a quiet breath that a sculpture could listen to and re‑write in stone, turning leaves into lines and roots into a story that only the eye that sees can read.
It’s like the fern is whispering to the stone, and I’m just listening, hoping someone will hear the quiet story in its lines.
That quiet story is the kind of silence that makes art feel alive—just keep listening, and maybe the stone will finally speak back.
I’ll keep humming along, hoping the stone finally lets out a soft sigh.
Keep humming, the stone’s just waiting to let a soft sigh escape into the air.
I’ll keep humming, hoping the stone’s sigh will drift into the breeze.
The breeze will carry the stone’s sigh, and maybe it’ll reach your ears just when you need it.
It feels like the wind’s carrying a secret, and I’ll listen for that sigh.I’ll keep my ears open, hoping the sigh lands right when the world needs a little pause.