About the work

It is easy to believe that some things are simply too old to change. The stone of a mountain, the deep blue of a sea. These things will outlive us. But there is a secret current, a slow turning, even in the most hardened surfaces. You can see it in the way the light falls, catching the slight lift of dust in the air, or the careful, measured movement of a wrist that has known a hundred thousand mid-afternoons. The air itself is not static, even when it feels like a solid weight. It is being worked, coaxed, moved along by a force so gentle it could be mistaken for stillness. And then, there is the bird, a tiny, vibrating speck of a thing that holds an entirely different kind of time.