by Eric Pankey
Enrobed in shadows, the woods invite one to tarry.
If given an exploded view, one might behold unquantifiable dark matter, a graphite under-drawing bled through, the trees rearranged, composed, variants of the present site re-sited: a tangled screen of vine and tendrils, a distorted perspective to undermine the reality of the pictorial space.
The ostensible subject of the scene—look, Judas is one of the torch-bearers among the authorities— is overwhelmed by the fall of moonlight on leaves, what look like crisp crosshatchings of chalk.
One might note as well the menacing fecundity, the weedy hardiness upon the inhospitable soil.
The receding depths are more forest than copse; the ruched waterfall is a diffuse blur.
A startled stag turns toward the viewer.