About the work

There is a deep satisfaction in doing the wrong thing in the right way. Not rebellion, exactly, but a kind of graceful misplacement. The world is full of things that fit, or are made to fit, or are forced to fit. And then there are the moments when something simply refuses. A sudden, almost tender refusal. It doesn't scream, it doesn't even whisper. It just *is*, elsewhere. The patience of this elsewhere is not quietude; it’s more like the distant rumble of something inevitable, but not yet here.