In the Middle Ages, animals were generally bred for the purpose of providing meat. However, their carcasses served far more varied forms of appropriation—intestines turned into gut strings, bones boiled to make glue, bladders became water containers, and indeed, skin became parchment. To me, parchment holds a very uncanny paradox. On one level, it is the literal product of death, but when turned into a codex or illuminated manuscript, it is looked at with awe and sanctity.

parchment grew hair, “…as the shadows pass away, into the ground” is a work of weak, barely present echoes. The material constantly refers to itself through canons and imitation, with each futile reprise filtering and eroding the music further and further. Eodem modo, through the application of pigment, the animate, physical history of the parchment is painted over, leaving only the tiniest remaining bits of hair and striation marks to weakly remind the viewer of the material’s previous life.

(The title quotes text from Scott Barley’s 2023 film Sleep Has Her House—a constant well of inspiriation and ideas that has informed parts of this piece’s narrative and formal structure.)