A darkened church.

An industrial fan, set on high.

Some matches and a candle.

A worldwide pandemic forcing bodies into isolation.

A lone body turning against the wind can result in light emerging, even briefly, amidst darkness…

I enter the space and stand with my body turned to the side, a large fan blowing hard. I attempt to light a match; the fan quickly extinguishes it. Another match is lit. It also fails. Another. Snuffed out. Another. Dies. The process seems absurd.

I turn my back to a constant wind. I attempt to light another match. It briefly ignites, but falters. I try again, curling my body to protect the flame, and set alight a candle wick. The wind swirls around me, the flame darting wildly. I hold the candle as protector of fragile light. Wax drips on my fingers and the stone floor beneath my feet. This dance between my body and uncontrollable forces lasts for forty-five minutes, until the wax of the candle engulfs the flame and snuffs it out.

A lone body turning against the wind can result in light emerging, even briefly, amidst darkness.