About the work

The pajamas started as a joke, a gift from a well-meaning aunt who thought the wearer still longed for childhood comforts. They were worn ironically at first, then out of convenience, and finally, out of sheer comfort. The maple syrup smell is new, a lingering ghost from a pancake breakfast that ended just moments before the car arrived. Now, in the sudden breeze from the little fan, the carnations, so bright and defiant, sway gently. They were bought in a hurried moment, a small gesture that still doesn’t quite explain the mismatched pajamas.