The shell is stripped away, and beady red eyes lead the form of a Cicada as it pushes forth and cracks through the carapace. With golden wings and armored skin, no foes can penetrate her armor, if she can even be found. I can hear them. I hear them as the sun heats the earth. I feel them in their absence. I know they are near, though rarely seen.
Mattea prints are reproduced on 8x10 archival paper and are packaged with a mat backing in a clear bag.