Hollow places are exit wounds.  Hollow places are where we find out what we are made of. 

I created Hollow Places as a site of exploration, a portal into worlds disordered by terrorism and political violence, into geographies inflamed by long held stories of grievance and terror and revenge, a place to deconstruct the machinery of harm and the blood lusts that fuel it.  I created Hollow Places to chart the fragile architecture of grace and salvation even when those things seems absent.

Terrorism and political violence rip open our cities and our communities, scavenging like vultures that reach into us and hollow us out, leaving scars so deep we cannot imagine we will ever be human again. This is our wound culture with its overhead lights and splatter codes, its  rooms lit by a single bulb casting long shadows on blood stained walls, its soulless loop of news headlines and soundbites, its cities of smashed concrete marked by mass graves and the desperate silence that masquerades as survival.

And yet, all it takes is a single flame, a solitary note of music to puncture the darkness, to say yes monsters live here but so do poets. In hollow places, beauty drips in like cool water, like sweet honey and reminds us of other truths. Underground rivers carve pathways into rock and mountain. Languages on the edge of extinction slip into music and poetry. Artisans build musical instruments to encase hollow places, so the notes vibrate and amplify until, at last, we can hear music.