Limbo

quiet force

Tiny magnets on strips of mylar waiting their turn…

These are the tiny magnets that held The Wicked Garden drawings in place. More than 240 of them, each one with a circle of Mylar, stuck, pressed, spaced, a quiet army keeping everything still. If you breathed too close or let your hand slip, they would leap together—a sudden tangle of silver and force, undoing hours in a heartbeat.

Now the work is up. The garden hangs without me. And I’m in that strange, weightless pause— after the doing, before the seeing. No time for proper photos, no real moment to stand and take it in. Just the hum of having finished, and a kind of echo in the body where effort used to be. I drift through the days rearranging small things—a word on a webpage, a thought half-written—