About the work

There is a specific kind of quiet that follows certain loudnesses. Not the absence of sound, but a settling, a redistribution of silence, like dust motes finding new places in a room after something heavy has been dropped. It’s the hush before anything has truly begun to dry, when the world still holds its breath, pooling and reflecting. The light at such a moment isn't new, precisely, but rather a re-presented light, filtered through layers of atmosphere and recent event, showing you what was there all along, but washed clean, for a brief, fleeting instant, of its usual, accumulated dust.