About the work

It is very easy, sometimes, to mistake the quiet of a room for an earned peace. As if the absence of sound means something has been resolved. But silence is often only the sound of things not yet begun, or things that have been set down, carefully, but not yet put away. A clothesline, freshly coiled, is like this. It is not finished. It is only waiting for something to dry. The newness of it, the neatness, speaks more of anticipation than completion. The air, too, has this quality, holding its crispness without quite settling.