A toneless key
in the light of dawn.
The pulse of the dead, the unborn
plant life animal life
an element
a child before a human.

But a sound from Inferno too.
No hell open there.
Of those created, only a human
makes one suffer, suffers
without understanding their misunderstandings.
They dominate, dawn or night.

A freely translated passage from Mirjam Tuominen’s poem Soinniton kosketin, 1954

My works deal with the wound of being. A cross-section of an experience where the familiar is distorted. Where the violence of growth appears, the shadow of innocence and purity. A wound in which hope for healing still blooms.