About the work

The pigeon is not looking at you. You know this. It is looking at the crumbs you might drop, at the impossible future where this loaf will be scattered. The dust of the street, the exhaust of the truck – this is all just a kind of weather you move through, a static field against which you are still. You secured the bread not to eat it, but to carry it past the point where it could still be called fresh.