"Collecting the distance as I advanced, left hand cycling through a changing set of guidant postures while the right hand reeled and coiled, I followed the line down to a massive driftwood trunk. I walked along its incredible mass, fifteen steps long and well above my belt, with my finger circling its bony knots, playing them like tumor dials, trailing the deep ridges that journaled unimaginable transport up from the stew of the sea and over the same dune ridge I had just descended, where it rested now for the presumed duration of its atomic integrity. The arthropodal silver of its complexion flashed spines of granular light shed from a different world against the volatile crosshatching of the dune grass. The kite string stretched to the trunk’s extremity, where it was engaged in a slot the width of a pencil line drawn inwards from its edge. This is what had kept me. A single reed tone sounded as I plucked the line from the hold of the wooden tongue. The kite was mine again; I pulled it back over the log."
Figure number 3. 24x24x1 inches. Cradled Wood Panel. Oil Paint. Charcoal. Ash. Cinders.
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