Beneath Ceaseless Skies | Tell the King by Natalia Theodoridou
I wait for her dreams to coalesce into something I can read. Her images on the projection fabric are dull, convoluted: a long, empty road flanked by plants I don’t recognize. A piece of lace undulating in the wind. A handful of bay leaves, burning in a clay pot. What does it mean? Yes, or no? Or something else?
Source: beneath-ceaseless-skies.com