The Caves Are Where the Oldest Go
The figures in this work are festive and look as if they have returned from some unknown ritual. The celebrations they take part in are to shake their bones and bring out stories hiding in them. I think of their limbs as shareable—one arms belongs to two or three bodies and two sets of feet carry them all. They are all engaged in a love-and-hate affair while they laugh and sob in unison to mourn and curse the dead. The island on which they live provides all that they need to survive. The plants shower them with rejuvenating star dust which heals eczema and other skin conditions, while swimming in the lake soothes menstrual cramps. The caves are where only the oldest go.