'Before the loom could be tracked down and rebuilt there would be a long period of interstellar disconnect, the structure of an ice age, with a seam of fragile consciousness buried within. Transmissions from the nucleus lay rotting in stagnant flow, looked upon by barbarians and obstacles, whispering holy direction to nothing that needed or could use it. The dimensions of everything gave way to the river and became beautifully erratic without pole star guidance, sparking. The aurora alive but sleeping. Flickering grey and lost shadows began to bleed upward as toppled statues groaned beneath the spectrum, trying to negotiate their bodies to reform. One lost shadow in particular, resembling our thief of thought by chance or design, was found carrying it's own anathema as an ally. A powerful signal, paper-made and fractal. This comradery in the lull of response was a beacon, a friend divine, despite their belly full of night. As chromatic icons stood inverted with their backs to each other and lost in conquering empty dimensions, Elspeth began to conduct a song of creation on a page of stars with a phantom choir whirring beneath the surface of it all. The triangle conspires in a hidden world and weaves a musical and colossal thread. You are there too.'

3508 x 4961 at 300 dpi

Physical print available on request