About the work

The roller, perfectly round and utterly out of place, suggests a single moment of dislodgment. It implies a larger, unseen mechanism, once complete, now disrupted, perhaps forever. This solitary wheel, divorced from its purpose, speaks of an end to motion, or perhaps a new, unintended path. It is the perfect counterpoint to the fabric roses, which were never truly alive, never truly in motion, yet now lie equally still. The stillness of the roses, once a deliberate artifice, now matches the accidental stillness of the roller. Both, in their own ways, are abandoned objects, awaiting a clean sweep. There is a quiet logic here about how disparate things, by happenstance, find a shared state of being.