About the work

Some sounds persist only in memory, others in the walls themselves. It’s hard to tell the difference sometimes. The humming of an old appliance, the tapping of a pen, the soft rustle of paper. These are the small, repetitive acts that fill a day, that fill a life, until you are no longer sure if you are performing them or if they are performing you. You carry the rhythm, even after the source is gone. A faint vibration in the air, a shadow of an expectation. The silence, when it finally comes, is not empty. It's just a different kind of sound.