Within the red arched niche of these 135 x 96 cm (4'5" × 3'2"), a tree of life explodes upward with its anise green and vivid yellow branches, reaching out on either side of the trunk as though the wool itself wanted to grow. Birds settle upon it, woven in the tradition of Esme some 65 years ago, silent guardians of a knowledge no longer passed down.
The abrash crosses the blue-grey ground of the border in gentle waves, shades that shift imperceptibly from one section to the next, like light on water at different hours of the day. There are pieces one searches for all one's life without finding. This one exists.
