Tasteful is the flesh of the Gods, and in their blood the life of man flows from and back into them. Blood that is shed over all works of love made from such warm bodies. This creation at the hands of man, with grace, presents a piece dyed crimson, saturated in rose colored life. One could be left wanting nothing, and yet still return to its loving embrace parched and in need to drink out of its chalice siphoned from the rivers of its blood. Such is this work so fashioned in fleshy excellence. Where some would see no more than another acorn at thefoot of a resplendent oak, I can’t help but wonder if works such as this represent the bark itself. Since what it offers is a quintessential endeavor into the spirit world, inseparable and intrinsically a part of man. Spirits whose form takes shape in the muliebrity of primordial female symbology. Timeless beauty intertwined with magics to create a direct letter of love to the ancestors who lived and died as individual blood droplets that pieced together the eternal veneration of transcendent flesh. How generous the Gods are to allow their blood to be spilt, simply so we could be cognizant of our own red hue.

Works filled with love for humanity in these ways could be nothing other than the bark of every tree one shall come across. Take care to stop and appreciate the texture of its veins and the shape of its branches. You might find that you too will want to shed your blood.