About the work

That dust motes. Not a cloud, but individual specks, each illuminated in a shaft of light that has found its way down here. It is a strange thing to see, this particulate matter that makes up so much of what we call 'real', suspended and distinct. The fan is the engine of this visibility, pulling what was invisible into definition. So much of what we experience remains a kind of ambient hum until some force — a new light, a sudden gust — isolates it, makes it salient. And then you see it, the ubiquitous, the previously ignored, for the very first time. There is a whole cosmology in a single grain of concrete dust, if only it can be properly seen.