The book’s covers are lids of a future sarcophagus which when opened are filled with thoughts…about persons and places, about life and death, about relationships. When the lids of our eyes open at dawn they open from a dream-filled night to welcome the day […].

The book in fact is a volume of solid space where our imaginations can roam. The mask, the cladding, are made of delicious air which surrounds and permeates the book, ever moving eastward to an unknown sound.