Crossing. Going to the other side. Crossing the ocean in a ship, a river in a rowing boat, and a whole afterlife wrapped as a mummy after you die.

I collected things that looked like boats and made them into a rusty whole. Patient with brush and metal paint and acid. Time passed, the rust appeared, and I stopped the decay with a coating.
I collected things that looked like birds, and brushed them with red lead. Preserve. Then I tore and dyed bandages in living colors; from still young skin to clotted blood. 

Then I stopped for a while. A few months. A year passed. I read about mummies and looked them up in the darkened rooms of the museum of antiquities. I took my little jar collection from a box. Those were collected for another project but I started to expand the collection and stack them on the ships. They went along. Naturally. The birds with their metal beaks and stiff wings caught the wind. Figurehead, captain, and cargo in one. And everything they needed, or had been needed before, came with them. Protected in their jars and amphoras. For at the other side.