The lines are multiple fractures that runs like patterns from the top to the bottom. Ancient geologic traces, ash grey with touches of greens where the moss is starting to grow. It is a very slow explosion, spanning over centuries probably. Something is pushing from within. Sometime it grew too fast, or dried? The white flesh is laid bare, revealing the thickness of the fibrous material. Here they are cracks, with darker shades, plateaus ending with abrupt cliffs only to start immediately again.
Then black, a silky powdery black, sitting like a thin layer over the gap of a nice neat trench. The trench meanders mindlessly through this tortuous geography, ignoring directions and signs. And it meets another trench, and another, countless lines! Together they go, executing an elegant ballet of obscure characters, combining, departing, ending and starting somewhere else. Every now and then a clear circular yellow stain pierces the bark. A glimpses of fresh wood covered with candle wax methodically dispersed, mapping the surface regularly. And there it is, a sudden cut, sprouts of greens growing at the feet of the log.
‘Trough growth rings my affection ponders‘
2017, oak logs, grey oyster & shiitake logs, engraved