About the work

He used to wear these goggles when he was younger, before the light began to thin. Each morning, he’d find them exactly where they were left the night before, a silent promise of dust and sparks. Now, they are just another item on the bench, gathering the market’s grit, their plastic yellowing under a sun that’s no longer filtered through industrial glass. The small boy who sometimes helps with the boxes picks them up occasionally, trying them on for size, but sets them down quickly, too big, too dark. They were never meant to be forgotten here, amongst the shouts and the smell of fruit, but the tools that once demanded them are gone.