Iris by Richard John Forbes, is a painting in film, a homage to the arable, observance of the tamable, reverence to the primordial, counting on instinct, acute muscle memory, deep respect to hereditary knowing.

The iris shifts as the desert sun climbs, a stark disc of light cutting through the eye’s aperture. At dawn, it opens wide, raw and exposed, pulling in the pale glow over craggy hills, sharp as glass. Midday, it narrows to a slit, deflecting the sun’s brutal pulse, a mechanical click against the glare. As dusk bleeds red across the flat waste, the iris stretches again, scavenging the last scraps of light before night clamps shut. It’s a machine, precise, tracking the sun’s arc over the desert’s unyielding grid.