Breathing is touching at the mucosal lining. Every act of smell is inmost, allowing of power’s touch. Not just at its apex but in the real intimacy of the unseen. It is fed and inhaled. It lives in alveoli, with our cells, connecting us inextricably. Power is a discreet and penetrating breath, constant, inseparable, and blended with our bodily functions.

Plenitude. I am overwhelmed by meaning. Every time I breathe, the rhythm is natural, fluid. It fuses action. I became aware of my ‘cosmic lung.’ I enter into the total rhythm of the world. The world is my lung.” (Lygia Clark, The Abandonment of Modern Art)
turba tol hol-hol tolin co-creation with the Ensayos collective: a submersion into and an offering to peatlands, observing the smellscapes of extractivism, sphagnum dives, beaver dams, and more. anchored in the bogs of karukinka, tierra del fuego; and bog hollow, new york