In Omewenne's work seas of unconsciousness give rise to sea turtles as deaf gods, chambers of the nautilus as dens of insignificant passion, waves eroding away at a wish for belonging. Beyond the sea there lays a madness of leaves of many colors on a forest floor of numb withdrawal, a Queendom of snow where a last lonely kiss brings remoteness a standstill of ice, a witches sabbath weaves its fiery spells towards a domain of shapeshifting spirit transference.