Before the flame, there is a gesture: gathering small branches, crossing them with
care, and waiting for the spark. Kindling is that moment just before the fire. Strings
sealed in wax interlace like dry twigs, lit in yellows, oranges and reds that climb like
rising heat, while pockets of deep blue keep the shadow of a night not yet gone.
Wax, ancient memory of bees and sun, covers each thread like warm skin. It is a
piece about beginnings, about the small structure something needs in order to
burn and give light.
