About the work

Some things, you have to admit, were made for a joke. Not in the way a clown is made for a joke, or a politician is made for a joke. More like a misplaced object, a particular arrangement, an accidental juxtaposition. This is not to say that the intent was humor, or even that humor is the ultimate outcome. But there is a kind of silent punchline in the very existence of certain things, particularly when they are caught unaware. The weight of an object is always telling, more so when it is unexpectedly paired, or when it seems to anticipate a use it will never quite find. A distant hum, a glint of metal, the soft sheen of plastic, all these can become part of the setup, the slow build toward something that will never be fully articulated. The air, too, has a part to play, holding scents, carrying sounds, bearing the faint tremor of something almost, but not quite, out of place. It’s a patience of materials, a slow comedy of the inanimate, waiting not for a laugh, but for a simple acknowledgement of its own strange, irreducible self.