About the work

Sometimes a thing simply outlives its purpose, and we let it stay out of a kind of shared inertia. It becomes a landmark. A forgotten toy, a worn path, a stain on the wall that resists every effort. And then other things accumulate around it, not because they mean to, but because that’s where the world has placed them. It’s hard to tell which is the original fixture, which is the interloper. The night makes everything equally present, and equally unimportant, until something interrupts the pattern. A flash of iridescence, a sudden shift in the light from something just beyond the frame. Something in the corner, that shouldn’t be there, is now undeniably there. And the moon, always elsewhere, is here too.