About the work

That umbrella, closed and leaning, has never actually been used for rain. It belongs to the pigeon, a prop for its one-pigeon show, an elaborate routine designed to attract the interest of a specific human who sometimes walks by. The pigeon saw it discarded outside a charity shop and decided it was an object of intrigue. It nudges it with its beak, sometimes, when no one is looking, a small, secret game. The pigeon has even considered opening it, if only it had thumbs. But the human never notices, always too focused on the next thing, and the umbrella remains an unused signifier, a perfect, dry circle of tartan against the grimy wall.