SANQUIS
Home does not end at the threshold.
It follows, seeps, infiltrates—memory made liquid in our veins.
Wood and image hold its trace, a quiet toxin,
bleeding into every space we inhabit,
haunting the attempt to escape.
It follows, seeps, infiltrates—memory made liquid in our veins.
Wood and image hold its trace, a quiet toxin,
bleeding into every space we inhabit,
haunting the attempt to escape.
The door, familiar yet inescapable,
becomes both vessel and specter,
a pulse of what cannot be shed.
The work lingers in that tension,
where sanctuary turns inward,
and the past courses through the body,
unbidden, relentless, intimate.
becomes both vessel and specter,
a pulse of what cannot be shed.
The work lingers in that tension,
where sanctuary turns inward,
and the past courses through the body,
unbidden, relentless, intimate.
Wood, Paper
48 x 15 x 3 In.
