Air roots

I fashioned this tree from wire, line after line, like a growing thought. The trunk rises in the center, sober and taut, while the branches spread upwards, slender, nervous, sometimes tinged with red, like a discreet sap. Beneath the surface, the roots stretch wide, tangled, almost fragile, but deeply rooted. Wire allows me to write in this essential way: it resists under the fingers, then gives way, accepting the curve, the accident, the breath. With it, I speak of nature as I feel it: strong in its structure, vulnerable in its extremities. Roots and branches respond to each other, resembling each other, as if the tree were hesitating between heaven and earth. In this work, I'm looking for balance. A balance between origins and momentum, between what's hidden and what's revealed. Metal becomes alive, almost organic, and tells of the invisible links that bind us to the ground, to time, and to what slowly grows within us.