About the work

The universe, for all its grand pronouncements, often performs its smallest acts with a casual indifference. It’s not that it doesn’t care for the individual ripple, but that it simply has no mechanism for the particular. A thing is born, then it is crushed. The pressure comes from anywhere, from nowhere. There is no intent behind the flattening, no malice in the corrosion that starts as a hairline fracture and spreads like a blush. It just *happens*. And then it sits, holding its new shape, offering no resistance, as if this form, too, was always its destiny. The sun finds it, or it doesn't. The air moves around it, or it doesn't. It is simply there.