Yes, yes, and again, yes to this fabulous photograph. The deep-lens focus emulates Orson Welles’ technique in Citizen Kane. There is no Man in the Moon face to distract us. The lunar landscape has been deftly blurred, although its luminescence is not muted, emphasizing the tree limbs’ reticular nature. The tree is leafless, reminiscent of the dendrite structure of the nervous system, and in that sense, antedates anything lycanthropic (iconic werewolf silhouette) with which we are already inundated. The artist dares to strap us into his visual Time Machine, transporting us far back to nascent beginnings; elemental, primeval germinations, before the apple blossom, retro-fitting our in-utero neural network formation, past the interminable post-Jurassic Winter, and yes, beyond the Freudian subconscious, the Jungian collective unconsciousness, and the guilt that drove Judas Iscariot to hang himself, perhaps, from a tree like this very one. The tree branches are illuminated from the foreground, as if the moonlight has made it seem translucent from the background, and its glow draws us to it like a sphinx moth to flame. The arboreal specter’s limb-like branches materialize from the night sky out of nowhere as though ragged, alien Sargasso seaweed appendages, reaching deep down along a black-abyss ocean floor, prying open an oyster to ravage its pearl. Beauty and the beast, yes, but mostly beauty. And what a beauty.