Observation: Severed

Severed is not an image of death, but of interruption. A tree once growing toward an imagined sky was cut mid-sentence, its desire to rise suddenly halted by an external hand. What remains is not absence, but tension — a body that remembers the shape of its future.

The trunk still stands, thick with time, holding the memory of branches that no longer exist. Every scar in its bark is a quiet archive, a record of where life was forced to stop and where it refused to.

This photograph is about survival after being reshaped. Not the romantic kind — but the stubborn, silent kind. To be severed is not to be erased; it is to continue in a new, wounded geometry, carrying forward a growth that no longer looks like growth.

Here, the tree does not bloom. It endures.