There is an element of danger in the way Jessica Loughlin wants us to view the world. Within the horizon rim of a landscape disk, she depicts inviolate divisions–earth, sky, sea, past, present, future, light, dark, remembering, forgetting–then slyly, utterly subverts whever boundaries such realism proposes. Is the horizon a circle on the land or a stright line on the retina? In fact, it is neither, but a phontom of the beholder's eye, as unique to her as her shadow, visible, knowable only to her. The horizons in her nuanced depictions of vast, empty spaces actively imply her presence as witness, and lead finally to the recognition that we are as much the scene of nature's drama as nature is of ours. –G. Wichert