Into the Ghost Wood

Skin richly green with moss and lichen, owls live within my tangled locks of hair. Look within and there is bark upon my bones. My roots reach and twist far into the earth. Hidden safe in the deep memories of the ever watchful land, I drink in stories, lore and secrets.

Walking crooked paths through ancient trees I have dreamt the ghost woods and  working with paper, wire, glass, clay and pigments, I craft their whispers in sculptures, masks and jewellery. 

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The Land has seen more than we will ever know. Be still be silent and you may hear the Land dreaming.