About the work

The canary pad, blank, awaits a specific pressure, a singular intention that will turn its empty surface into a record. It feels like the moment before a score is kept, or a promise is made, or an order is given, or even an apology. The Bakelite, scarred and aged, suggests countless such pressures have come and gone. It holds itself as a silent witness to a million small transactions, each one momentarily important, then filed away and forgotten. There is a weight here, then, to every unmarked page, a memory of all that was once crucial and is now just dust. It is the history of intention, not of outcome.