The Story of Epiphyte
A piece of wood, perhaps the thick branch of an oak tree damaged in a storm or a disposed bit of cut lumber, floats helplessly down a river. It’s knocked around, beaten and split by boats and current alike. It is washed up on a rocky shore, the sun drying and bleaching water logged fibers. A quiet boy on a walk along the river, picks up the timber and hurls it back into the swirling flow, its odyssey far from over. Many years and miles later the wood, dented and forged into shape by its journey, finds itself in the brackish tidal estuary of New York Harbor. Plucked from slick rocks, it is here, and with you that it embarks on the next leg of its course as Epiphyte.