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Olive wood (Olea europaea) with stainless steel and epoxy inlays.
14 lbs. 23” x 18” x 3”
This work extends the atmospheric language first established in Lightning Seeds. Where that sculpture focused on discrete points of charge suspended within a wooden field, November Sky expands the condition outward, treating the entire structure as weather—heavier, lower, and more enveloping.
The eucalyptus burl suggests a late–autumn storm front: dense, layered, and visibly compressed. Its grain records years of uneven growth and accumulated stress, producing turbulence without rupture. The surface reads less as solid mass than as atmosphere held in place.
Black and grey epoxy inlays settle into the burl’s cavities like condensed cloud cover. These darkened volumes function not as voids but as pressure zones—areas where visibility thickens and motion slows. The tonal shift from charcoal to ash suggests depth and saturation rather than depiction, a sky forming from within the material itself.
Small steel spheres are embedded throughout these clouded regions. As in Lightning Seeds, they signify electrical potential: localized concentrations where energy gathers but has not yet discharged. Steel’s isotropic uniformity and conductivity contrast the wood’s organic irregularity, allowing each sphere to operate as a precise point within a diffuse field. Variations in size and depth register unequal intensities—some near threshold, others dormant.
Nothing resolves. No lightning strikes. The system remains charged and suspended.
November Sky, like Lightning Seeds, treats instability as a condition defined by containment rather than release. Energy is not expended but managed—held within the structure as persistent tension, where possibility outweighs event and the atmosphere remains perpetually on the verge.
Olive wood (Olea europaea) with stainless steel and epoxy inlays.
14 lbs. 23” x 18” x 3”
This work extends the atmospheric language first established in Lightning Seeds. Where that sculpture focused on discrete points of charge suspended within a wooden field, November Sky expands the condition outward, treating the entire structure as weather—heavier, lower, and more enveloping.
The eucalyptus burl suggests a late–autumn storm front: dense, layered, and visibly compressed. Its grain records years of uneven growth and accumulated stress, producing turbulence without rupture. The surface reads less as solid mass than as atmosphere held in place.
Black and grey epoxy inlays settle into the burl’s cavities like condensed cloud cover. These darkened volumes function not as voids but as pressure zones—areas where visibility thickens and motion slows. The tonal shift from charcoal to ash suggests depth and saturation rather than depiction, a sky forming from within the material itself.
Small steel spheres are embedded throughout these clouded regions. As in Lightning Seeds, they signify electrical potential: localized concentrations where energy gathers but has not yet discharged. Steel’s isotropic uniformity and conductivity contrast the wood’s organic irregularity, allowing each sphere to operate as a precise point within a diffuse field. Variations in size and depth register unequal intensities—some near threshold, others dormant.
Nothing resolves. No lightning strikes. The system remains charged and suspended.
November Sky, like Lightning Seeds, treats instability as a condition defined by containment rather than release. Energy is not expended but managed—held within the structure as persistent tension, where possibility outweighs event and the atmosphere remains perpetually on the verge.