His name: Matt Henry.
He had exhibited some images at the Polka Gallery.
He just sent us these images along with his text, which he describes as “fictional.”
Like many towns on the edge of vast forest, Black Pines was born out of logging. Its very existence beholden to a giant lumber company and a distant army of executives. And so the town and its people never got the start that they might have had, never evolved to the rhythms of the forest like the people who once flourished in these woods. They enjoyed to hunt and to fish, and some could even appreciate an old-growth cedar, but they were hapless guests of the forest without the necessary knowledge, reverence, or humility, brought as they were for extraction.
The forest decided that the town had given too little and taken too much. Trees can communicate after all, sending signals over distance about pests and drought, and sharing food in times of want. They can change their scent to attract and deter certain creatures and even alter human mood, and it was these particular scents that the trees agreed to tweak. All those in the town who had the forest somewhere in their hearts began to find their voice, while those who cared little for the forest found themselves inside of a spiral of darkness. Presented here is a portrait of life in Black Pines in the inaugural year, as the town began to take off.
Matt Henry
