About the work

The world sometimes arranges itself without asking. It just piles things up, one after another, until you have too many things at once. Like the way a certain kind of blue will refuse to stay still, even when it's caught flat on a jacket, or the way water always finds the exact wrong place to gather. Something in us wants to sort it, to put the rain back in the clouds, to lift the slow thing out of the fast. But the slowing doesn’t happen. Only the going.