In the spring of 2020, when an unbearable number of people were dying alone from the coronavirus, I found myself in my garden each day, cutting flowers. I arranged them in the light of the setting sun or late afternoon rain and photographed them. On the bright white of paper I inscribed asemic writing with black ink and then printed my photographs over the writing.

This ritual process and the collected images, honors the dead, offering sacred space and dignity in release. This series captures both the bleak silence of isolation and the sacred radiance of this passage each of us makes only once - the terrible beauty of leaving while arriving - when living things, as all living things do, merge with the divine.

This suspended dance of ecstatic gesture - fading flowers, falling rain, piercing rays of sun, unreadable text - is time holding still just long enough to whisper a faint farewell.