For the early sailors who navigated it, the ocean was a wild frontier. Even in the deepest places of the sea, the water is never any one thing: it is flat, it is mountainous; it is light blue, grey – often black – and  at the mercy of the gods who control its every wave. The clearest morning skies can become enraged with turbulent squalls, responding to hidden whims beyond human understanding. Mariner gestures to the humble sailor with an assemblage evocative of stitched patchwork, telling a story of the lone sea-farer who mends his weather-worn sails with no more than a whalebone needle. He continues on his course, unconquered, charting through treacherous waters toward a fleeting horizon.