About the work

There is a moment, brief, where everything just hangs. Not suspended, not quite at rest, but in that fractional pause before gravity remembers its full jurisdiction. The stucco is holding on, the paint is holding on, the pigeon is holding on. And the light holds on to the rust, coloring it like an accidental flower. All the little pressures, the incremental degradations, have been adding up for a very long time, and yet, for now, the sum total is still standing. Even the small preening has a kind of structural integrity. It reminds you of how much can accumulate without quite falling apart.