About the work

The goldfish bowl, clutched in a hand that might otherwise be counting chips, contains a moment of unexpected wetness in this dry landscape. Its water, still and clear, pulls the eye from the suit and the gnome and the drone’s faint blur. It suggests a different gravity, a world not entirely governed by fluorescent hum and corporate beige. Perhaps the bowl is a placeholder, a temporary vessel for something that will soon be released or consumed, a small fragile secret amidst the outward show. It is the only thing here that seems to breathe, or at least to carry the possibility of breath. The thought hangs that even in the most prescribed environments, something wild can still be held, however briefly, in the palm of one's hand.