About the work

There are moments when the world is simply itself, and you happen to be in it. Not a witness, not a participant, but a thing among things, subject to the same sudden downpour, the same wind that whips the grass flat, the same slow drying. The ground underfoot, slick and dark, carries no memory of the sun it knew an hour ago, only the immediate cool weight of what has just passed. It’s like arriving late to a conversation, but the conversation is the landscape, and it has already moved on, leaving only the scent of wet earth and the lingering chill of its own brief, fierce speech.