About the work

They were delivered to the wrong address, a box of them meant for the pool hall down the road. The driver just left them on the porch. He didn’t know what to do with them at first, these perfect, heavy spheres, so he brought them inside and put them in the bathroom, the only room with empty counter space. That was three months ago. Now they’ve been scattered to mark a new beginning, a quiet, almost ritualistic scattering for the arrival of hot water. He’d forgotten how cold a house can get without it. But he still doesn't know why he keeps them.