I was trying to remember this poem I wanted to write about some owls inside a barn. The painting has no owls, nor is there any abstract visual representation. This painting is much more interested in talking to you about the feeling you get when you open a wooden, creaky barn door at night. With chilly winds and an air of uncanny mischief of being somewhere you’re not supposed to.

This painting was a hazy timestamp of a dream I might’ve had.