About the work

The pigeon on the deactivated loom seems to hold the threads together, not physically, but as a point of stillness in the otherwise suspended chaos. All these frayed ends, these silent mechanisms, feel like a breath held, a pause in an unending process, and the bird is its focal point. It’s not just resting; it’s witnessing the moment the machine became something else—a monument, perhaps, or a forgotten ancestor. This bird has found a place where industry stops, where the frantic weave unravels, and in that unraveling, something about the true nature of making, of material, is laid bare. It’s as if the lint, the sunlight, the pigeon, are all coalescing into a question about what remains when production ceases, when the purpose falls away.