I want to make beautiful things, even if nobody cares.
— Saul Bass

They See Us

One of my earlier works of the year. I was mourning Carol, my girlfriend who passed away. Ancient folklore often mentions the underworld of spirits and I sometimes wonder if that isn’t true. It’s as though I feel the dead are watching us. I think death does that... Makes us think of a spiritual place where beings go. Where are the observers? Where do the dead live? In my back yard I planted a tree in memory of Carol. I talk to it all the time. Am I crazy? Is this normal? It consoles me.

Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?

---