About the work

There is a certain quality of light that only gathers around the forgotten. It doesn’t illuminate in the way a spotlight does, or even a lamp. It just collects in the dust motes, making them visible, making the air itself seem heavy and thick with time. This light isn’t trying to reveal anything new, only what has always been there, what has settled, what has been left to its own slow entropy. The rain outside is the opposite, a constant erasure, a polishing away. But here, under the canvas, the light holds onto the past, not quite letting it go, not quite allowing it to be seen clearly either. The telescope, if it were actually looking, would only find more of the same, closer up, more granular.