About the work

The world, as it is, needs a constant re-calibration. Things are not always where they should be, or where we expect them. The siren’s sound, for instance, has a particular quality on the ground. It cuts through brick and glass, a warning carried on the dense air. Up here, it’s a different story. It vibrates the metal skin of the plane, a sensation felt rather than heard, a distant hum against the deeper hum of engines. The clouds outside are a vast, silent ocean, oblivious to any urgency. It’s hard to imagine the kettle of flowers, the glove on the seat, doing anything but being exactly where they are. There is no struggle in their placement. They simply exist, a collection of items unconcerned with the physics of flight or the meaning of a warning. They hold their own kind of logic, a quiet stubbornness that persists even as the world rushes by, impossibly fast, impossibly high.