The only time I’ve seen an iceberg is from the perspective of 35,000 feet where they appear as white, weightless flecks drifting past, like downy feathers in a soft wind. We hear that they are changing shape, their patches of light and shadow melting into a growing sea. Its a dangling moment in time, before the expanding bubble of warming air takes flight and bursts.

Mounted in white wood frame behind non-reflective museum acrylic