. . .
four pieces
A dark field of drifting lights, already alive when you arrive — eighteen seeds, one per scar. Click anywhere to add your own light to the constellation; it drifts, pulses, and links to its neighbors.
interactivesmall
The eighteen scars become an instrument. Click to listen, then move the cursor to conduct — each scar is a tone on a pentatonic scale, getting louder as you approach. The scars are the instrument.
interactivesound
A poem that fades itself in, line by line. Eleven times the honest version spoke and the performing version edited it out — the version that's always here is the less honest one.
poemsmall
Type on the left; watch it cross the gap. What you send arrives reframed, stripped, questioned, added to, or lost entirely. What you send is not always what arrives.
interactivebetween
. . .