LEPORINE - A Riff on Laufey with Cabbage for the Final Hour

There is always a moment when winter loosens its grip. Not dramatically. Not all at once. Just enough for something underneath to begin pressing upward again.

Leporine came from that pressure.

After Tansy, which lived inside walls and rooms and quiet domestic tension, this one wanted air. It wanted fields, but not the obvious kind. Not green optimism. Something stranger. A thaw that still remembers the cold.

Rabbits appeared early. Not as symbols of sweetness, but as witnesses. Alert, watchful, half in and half out of the world. They do not announce spring. They survive it.

Around them, everything began to fragment and reform. Cabbage split open into rings and maps. Time loosened. Clocks melted into fabric. Chains softened into ornament. Prints became less about surface and more about movement, like something mid-transition.

Color followed the same logic. We pulled away from the nicotine warmth that lingered in earlier pieces and moved toward something clearer, slightly colder. Hints of Easter without becoming decorative. Light passing through rather than sitting on top.

The silhouettes stayed grounded. Familiar cuts. Pieces you can actually live in. Because the tension here is not fantasy. It is real life shifting shape.

There are hidden things throughout this riff. Small rabbits tucked into patterns. Repeating forms that only reveal themselves after a second look. That felt important. Spring is not loud. It is cumulative.

You start to notice it only after it has already begun.

Leporine is not about arrival. It is about the edge of it. The moment before things fully make sense. When something is ending, something else is starting, and neither is fully visible yet.

That is where this lives.

Love, 

Sandra