The work digs an inaccessible library, like a bottomless well, deep into the ground.
Its title: “When My Father Died It Was Like a Whole Library Had Burned Down.”
Seeing this piece brought a thousand things to mind:
— The mystical labyrinth in Jorge Luis Borges’ famed tale “The Library of Babel”
— How much I wish we could place glass around the base a giant tree so as to peer down into its hectic, gorgeous jungle of roots
— That the hours of deepest grief truly are illegible
— That roots — our roots, tree roots, roots of all kinds — carry stories within them
— How the artist literally returned our pages/our words to their beginnings
— How works of art, when drawn from a true place, spark us to see/feel/hear with new vision
— and on and on…
Photos by Claire Voon for Hyperallergic
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