About the work

Every object has a secret life, a period of latency before it is pressed into service. The same is true for bodies, even when they’re awake. There’s a particular posture of disuse that suggests a kind of provisional living, a holding pattern. A new path, a new can, a new tree—all are waiting. But the body here has a different waiting, a more worn kind of patience. It is simply there, in the way a jacket slumps, or a plant gives itself over to its own slow decline, or a kite, for a moment, simply is.