About the work

The world has always divided itself into categories of the useful and the ornamental. But some things resist. A hand, for instance, in the act of pushing, ceases to be merely part of a body, ceases to be only a hand, and becomes, for a moment, a kind of lever, an extension of the will. The river, too, for all its movement, has moments of pure resistance, where it is not flowing but simply _there_, a vast, unyielding plane. And the bucket, bright against the muted light, is not merely useful, not merely red, but a small, stubborn punctuation.