Carol Endean Little

The remnants of trees hang suspended; fading memories of forests long gone.

Ghosts is an elegy for all we have lost in our world through our never-ending desire for ‘more’.

We strip-mine the land. We clear-fell. We take the soil and water. We pollute. We cover in concrete and waste. 

We are fools. It is we who may be the ‘ghosts’ of the future.

Recycled aged tree limbs, paint.