About the work

There are days when the world decides to arrive all at once. Not in some grand, sweeping gesture, but in little, insistent details, each demanding its own kind of attention, its own slow processing. You try to keep up. You try to arrange them, perhaps, into something coherent, a single narrative you can carry forward. But then a new detail surfaces, and the whole careful structure begins to waver. Sometimes, it’s not even that the things themselves are out of place, but the order in which they appear, or the way they feel against the expectation of a quieter moment. It’s like forgetting, for a second, that the world is a continuous stream, and not a series of distinct, manageable events. This is why sometimes, a touch, a mere brush against a familiar surface, becomes a kind of anchor. You just hold it for a moment, and let the rest of it wash past, until the quiet returns.