A sunflower does not know about the night.
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500gsm · 100% cotton · Hahnemühle Photo Rag · Archival pigment inks · 6 × 18 cm · Matte finish.
Milky Way series · 9 of 20 different sets.
Catalogue Nº 042 of 100.
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The houseplant on your windowsill follows a sun the window has not seen since November. The dog still listens for a footstep that has not climbed the stairs in two years. The morning routine you keep doing for a week after the job has changed. The candle a friend lights for somebody who has stopped checking. Loyalty to an absent thing keeps the thing alive in something less than fact, but more than nothing.
A field of sunflowers in southern Europe in midsummer, the heads down for the night, every one of them aimed at the same patch of horizon. Above them, the centre of our galaxy in pretty good focus on a dry August sky. The oak at the edge of the field has the patience of an oak. The sunflowers will stand like this for nine more hours and turn back to the east on schedule.
Sits alongside The Elegance of the Hedgehog by Muriel Barbery, Devotions by Mary Oliver, or any book read with the kind of plant on the table that remembers a window in another room.
There are still places on the planet dark enough to remember why people once feared the night. The sky is not a backdrop, it is a structure. You can see the bulge of the galactic core. You can see dust lanes. You can see, for a few seconds at a time, why every culture that ever lived under a sky like this built stories around it. The work is to stand outside for long enough to let your eyes finish adjusting, and then to stay one minute longer.
