About the work

There are things you carry because you choose to, and things that simply adhere to you. The weight of a rucksack is one thing, the weight of a day is another. One can be set down. The other, you find yourself wearing, like a second skin, or a fine film of something that settles over everything. It isn’t heavy, not precisely, but it alters the texture of the world, softens its edges, dulls its sharp points. The world becomes less distinct, not because of distance or poor vision, but because you are tired of making distinctions. The sheep has been making them all day. It knows what is grass and what is gorse. It knows the difference between a passing shadow and a coming storm. But a person, here, might find such clarity to be a burden. Better to let it all blur, for a moment. Just for a moment.