On certain mornings, one tree is the whole landscape.
Ships from Italy within 1–3 business days
500gsm · 100% cotton · Hahnemühle Photo Rag · Archival pigment inks · 6 × 18 cm · Matte finish.
Autumn series · 1 of 20 different sets.
Catalogue Nº 004 of 100.
Dispatched from Italy within 1–3 business days.
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There is a kind of morning that erases the week behind it. You wake before anyone else. The fog has come up in the night and the field outside your window has half-disappeared. The argument you were having with yourself yesterday is suddenly very far away. Whatever you were trying to remember has reduced itself to one thing, and the thing is somehow clearer than it was before.
This tree stands in heavy autumn fog in the Italian foothills, a single red figure in a landscape that has gone neutral around it. The hill behind it is gone. The rest of the row is gone. The fog edits. What survives is sharp, and it stays sharp for as long as the fog stays in.
A natural fit for The Lincoln Highway by Amor Towles, The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro, or any book read on a day the weather has narrowed the world.
There is a week each year, usually somewhere between mid-October and early November, when you start walking slower without deciding to. The air gets sharp. The light slants. Wet leaves stick to your shoes and you notice the smell of woodsmoke from a chimney you cannot see. The year is changing its mind, and so are you.
