About the work

You can tell a place is trying very hard to be clean, and failing in one crucial spot, or perhaps succeeding everywhere else, simply by the way a single bird chooses its ground. It’s not just the grit, which could be anywhere. It’s the surrounding perfection, the cold gleam of pipes, the straight lines that enforce a kind of order the bird doesn’t acknowledge. And then, the boot itself, not just dropped, but settled, like it’s been there long enough to absorb some of the indifference. It doesn’t even seem discarded, not exactly. More like it’s simply given up its purpose, right there, under the relentless gaze of a building that demands everything be put away or put to use. The pigeon, though, it finds its own use for the space.