Collecting trails

My toes are numb in my new shoes but one day they will fit perfectly.
Coincidence is leading me forward from one place to another and I
prepare to shed the skin. I am dropped off to a different reality. To find
a trail I need to confront my stereotypes.

I encounter the difficulty of identifying a person without seeing their
faces. While standing by the edge of the forest, a person looks tiny,
almost fragile. Then they step into the woods and disappear. Who is
vulnerable in this world?

I wonder if hunting is about the pursuit to control nature. What is
once done becomes irreversible as in what is seen cannot be unseen.
I find dream-like stories of a life in Alec Soth’s work – frozen moments
of places and people, like gathered leaves he brings together. Unlike
Soth, I stay and keep collecting memories of days that repeat each
other, never being the same. Nature and seasons are cyclic but my
thoughts are related more to space rather than time.

As the days pass by moose follow their instinct and the hunters are
moving along. One day the forest is cut down but
the roots stay – they are deep in the ground.