This work is a reckoning with inheritance—with the tangle of emotional legacies, untold intentions, and personal belongings—juxtaposed against the old condolence, “They’re in a better place now.”

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Beneath the hooked thorns and ropey, fibrous bark, the wood of wild rose branches is very soft. Its second layer protects an even more delicate and poriferous, almost sponge-like, center; a hollowing. Working with this medium and its material antinomies prompts even further meditation on capacity, threshold, and allowance.