About the work

The pigeon has seen a thousand bikes go by, and never once has it been startled. It knows the rumble before the wheels arrive, the shift of air as they pass. Its world is this tunnel, a brief, echoing stage between two very different kinds of outside. Sometimes, after a particularly heavy rain, it will drink from the tiny puddles that form in the divots of the concrete. It has never flown beyond the tunnel’s mouth, preferring the predictable safety of this hollow. And yet, there’s no visible reason why it shouldn’t.