The title Paper Thin draws its inspiration from a line in the song Vigil which touches on the Celtic concept of ‘thin places’ -those rare spaces where the veil between heaven and earth feels especially translucent, like you could almost reach across and touch the divine. To capture this feeling on the album cover, I chose to represent it with the aurora borealis.
The Northern Lights, with their stunning bursts of colour in the sky, have recently been visible here in the UK, stirring up awe in anyone who stepped outside to witness them. These rare sights, like passing comets, have this way of drawing us out of our routines, prompting us to look up and remember our smallness and wonder.
The fascinating thing is, most people could only see a faint hint of colour with their own eyes; the full, rich hues emerged only when seen through the lens of a camera, which is more sensitive to light than we are. Here in my town, the sky was overcast, so all I have is a washed-out photo with a slight pink glow. It felt like such a letdown to see friends’ photos and hear about their amazement while I looked out my own window and saw… very little.
It reminds me of how our relationship with God can feel at times. When we’re struggling, when faith feels thin, it’s easy to think we’re missing something others seem to see so clearly. Yet, just as the Northern Lights are there whether or not I can see them, God’s presence is with us, even in seasons of doubt. There’s a comfort in knowing that, even when it feels like we’re staring out at a cloudy sky, unable to catch a glimpse. The lights are still there. God is still here.