Fiber Alive brings together large portraits of endangered animals (“bigs”) and smaller studies of species already lost to extinction (“smalls”), creating a visual taxonomy of presence and absence. At the core of the series is a single, urgent question: Who are they? Not as data points or conservation statistics, but as individual beings with interiority, history, and agency.

I attempt to conjure something like soul—the fragile, stubborn life that endures despite human designs. Each piece insists on an animal’s “beingness,” refusing the convenient split that allows nonhuman lives to be treated as property, spectacle, or collateral damage. Fiber Alive pushes back against the cognitive dissonance that separates “human animal” from “creature animal,” a divide that underwrites development choices, policy decisions, and everyday indifference that erase other lives.

These works are not polemics so much as invitations to look more closely and to feel more honestly. The big portraits demand presence and responsibility; the small studies haunt with absence and regret. Together they map a continuum of loss and jeopardy that is both ecological and moral. These beings did not ask to be here, nor to be displaced, displayed, or commodified. None of us chose our arrival on this blue dot, but every life—human or nonhuman—is someone who deserves to live peacefully.

Ultimately, Fiber Alive is a call to witness: to recognize other lives as ends in themselves, to grieve what we have lost, and to rethink stewardship beyond profit and convenience. If art can rekindle empathy, then these woven pages and delicate cuts become a small act of care—a plea to honor the rights of all inhabitants of our shared world.