About the work

There is something about a sound, when it is truly distant, that makes it seem to come from nowhere at all. A siren, for instance, in the early morning, or the hum of lights just come on. It floats above the things it belongs to. The things it belongs to — the emergency, the power grid — they become less real than the sound itself. It is a surface tension over everything: the low sun, the mist in the trees, even the glitter on an artificial thing that is not even in this picture, but is here, somewhere, in the neighborhood, waiting to be filmed, or perhaps just having been filmed, and now resting. All of these things are held in the membrane of a single, drawn-out note.