About the work

Maybe the human species will never learn to be truly cold. We just keep trying to find new ways to be warm inside the cold, or to carry pockets of warmth with us. The machine hums not to go somewhere, but to stay alive, to hold its own heat against the surrounding air, like a heart beating in the ribs of the world. Even the light, which should simply illuminate, warms the concrete, if only in a theoretical way, the way a story warms the space around a fire. The hand that holds the food is another kind of warmth, the body creating its own small ecosystem, its own internal weather system against the vast indifference outside. Some things are just too good to eat cold.