About the work

The single feather escaping the pillow is an event, a small tear in the fabric of what should contain it, a kind of domestic disaster. This is how things begin to unravel, not with a sudden burst, but with a slow, almost imperceptible leak. The feather, once part of a whole, now signals a coming dispersal, a quiet undoing. It reminds us that every structure, no matter how carefully constructed, holds within it the seed of its own scattering. There is a melancholy in this, a recognition of inevitable decay that is not violent, but gentle, like breath. What remains after the feather has floated away is not emptiness, but merely a different kind of fullness.