About the work

The bowler, with his ball in hand, has just completed an action that has no echo in the sleek armor across the way. He is putting something back into its place, a gesture of conclusion, of consequence. The titanium figures, meanwhile, stand in a future that has no such direct feedback loop; their presence is a state, not a sequence. There is a strange inertia to the armored form, as if its very material has made it impervious to the small, specific failures of a missed pin. What would it mean to fail, in such a skin? To attempt and miss, to put a thing back in its bag, when the very suit promises a frictionless existence, a world beyond the scuffed floor and the dry pumps? It is a thought about the weight of consequence, and the strange relief of having it.