About the work

There is a certain way the world appears just before a headache starts, when the air itself feels heavy and the edges of things sharpen, almost vibrating. It’s not unpleasant at first, just an intensification, like a brief, impossible clarity. Then the pressure builds. Maybe it's not the pressure itself, but the anticipation of it, the faint echo of a memory of a past ache, settling in the small space behind the eyes. It clings, like damp fabric on skin, waiting. And then it is no longer anticipation.