About the work

There is a kind of abundance that only happens when someone else makes it. It's a generous force, like gravity, or the turning of a season, something you don't earn or even ask for. Its presence just… is. You might move through it, or stand beside it, or simply arrive too late to find it. The steam rising from something not for you, but for a whole gathering, suggests such a force in motion. It suggests something that was prepared with no direct thought of you, no direct need, but simply because the making of it was its own reason. Like a squirrel sorting through things that were never really lost.