Correspondence pigmented archival print 2013
prescript to a treatment
“The small blue haired first mate whispered into the Chief’s ear so thoughtfully, 'Don’t worry captain, all’s well, it doesn’t have to make sense for it to work. It’s all part of the plan.'
The captain knew his kind assistant was right. He knew they’d moved too far out and been through too many perplexities for the whole thing to feel clear to him in moments like this. The key was to stay out of the way and to let it be. He returned to his breath as he surveyed the sprawling instrument screens before him scanning for anomalies. He reconnected to his prayers which because of his many years of training now went on independent of conscious effort. The huge black ship slid on through the night sky as most of the passengers and crew lay nestled like newborns wrapped in lambs wool blankets symmetrically arranged in their cocoon-like travel chambers. They were linked by their dreams. They all dreamed of the new world toward which they moved, silently and weightlessly.”