There is no firmer connection between humanity and it's world than the idea of home. Paradoxically home is something we are always leaving. Home lies in the roots of our memory.
In the effort to resurrect, re-animate and reconstitute what is lost, it becomes apparent that there is an inability to do so. This fabric house cannot protect and these stitched trees cannot grow. These trees, like the ghosting of my house are but fragile shells of what they once were. They are just skins.