About the work

The balloon caught there because the wind pulled it off a child’s wrist. It was a tantrum, probably, or maybe just carelessness, a momentary lapse of grip. It rose above the parking lot, drifted over the highway, and then slowly descended, snagged by this ditch, this unexpected current. For a few hours, the balloon will deflate, the fabric softening into the algae. It has travelled further in its short life than most of the water in this channel ever will. It does not know it is lost.