About the work

The dashboard cuts across the frame, a hard line against the soft blur of green. It’s a domestic horizon, familiar and unchosen, like the kitchen counter you lean against every morning. The hang glider, a bright insect, floats in that upper sliver of sky, too far to be real, too close to be ignored. It’s a momentary disruption, a perfect fleeting form that will soon collapse into a heap of fabric and string. There is a curious tension here, between the permanence of the ground and the fragility of human ambition, between the fixed interior of the car and the boundless space outside. What are we doing, really, when we stop to notice such things? We are measuring our lives against a passing spectacle, an act of silent comparison where the dashboard wins every time.