Michael Szpakowski’s work always slices through the plethora of data when you least expect it, reminding us of what is important in this ever-troubled world; contrary to media opinion, people matter. And yet, in this piece, there are no people present, just the simplicity of nature, which seems to ooze a human consciousness. A piano wistfully accompanies you. You can hear and almost feel the wood, the keys plinking, and the air around the music as it plays; it breathes. Intimate echos, spaces between the obvious, the realm that Michael consciously touches upon, the substance of ourselves. An intimate, poignant reality that is unreachable for many artists because of a lack of depth. Drift…
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