About the work

There are certain sounds that carry across a landscape, becoming the landscape itself for a moment. The snap of a whip, a distant train, the clatter of a tin roof in a sudden wind. Sometimes it’s a sound that doesn't quite belong, yet settles in anyway, like a new bird. It might be a hum, a low thrum that vibrates the air, insistent, then gone, leaving an afterimage not in the eye, but in the inner ear. It tells you something is happening, a different kind of movement, a small, bright friction against the ordinary drift of things. This hum does not require sight to know its origin, only a willingness to hear the unlikely.