29 Apr Willo-the-wisp

Another painting that hangs on the wall is a forest. The trunks become days to count down, marked in chalk and more loudly but lightly by footsteps, in the stairwell. The shadows are drips on the paper, watercolour pooling in sparkles at the bottom of the page. From bed, I can see the tree and this painting and a mirror. The myths that hang in the tree reflect at me and into the mirror and back at me and onto the painting. Through the gaps in the trees shines a light, what begins as a sunset behind a bushfire ravaged forest is maybe hope (like the balloon in A Treacherous Country) or the future. The trees could be a liminal space, a place to make a decision, to undertake a quest, to escape from the witch, to outrun the wolf, to outsmart the guards, to prove oneself. The light could just be a willo-the-wisp. A fool’s fire, and nothing at all.

their own absence from Skye Mescall on Vimeo.