Jacqueline Trịnh

Other worlds are but fuller versions of this; colours between colours, notes between notes. The lines of where one thing ends, begins. ‘This is Not Mars.’ is a foreign land of interlocking riddles with no answers. Peer through the evening fog, where clouds touch the ground. The surface requires lightening cracking through, within that cavity, a lick of light, illuminating another question. And so I beckon you, be still, breathe lightly and immerse yourself.