About the work

The hardest part of any day is not the beginning, but the moment just before it. That suspension, the air still weighted with what hasn’t happened, what hasn’t quite broken through. You can feel it in the ground, in the dust, in the way a shadow isn’t really a shadow yet, just a less-lit patch of what will eventually be. The things that carry water, even when they’re dry, hold onto a kind of memory of current, a straightness carved by something long gone. It feels like a promise, or a threat, depending on what the day asks of you.