About the work

There are things that, once released, no longer need to be kept up. The illusion of freshness, for instance. Or the pretense of self-sufficiency. These things are often shed along with the crumpling of packaging, the last bits of Styrofoam clinging to newly unfurled fabric. It’s a kind of unraveling that can feel like a brief, private opera, performed for an audience of inanimate objects and the occasional passing bird. The weight of the coiled thing, held just so, might be an anchor, or perhaps a line cast out, hoping to snag something familiar, something that has been waiting patiently for the signal. The world keeps moving around this brief pause, its bright, indifferent colors asserting themselves.