Cripplewood at the Venice Biennale
It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. It’s dim and dank in here, despite the warmth of the Venetian summer. A long, gnarled mass lies sprawled across the length of the floor; in the gloom of the pavilion its flesh seems luminous. In places, its limbs are bound with rags. Sometimes they rest on threadbare cushions. It’s a fallen tree, but it seems[…..]














