About the work

The wooden block, now caught mid-air, was part of a set she’d bought at a village fete years ago, back when the idea of children felt abstract and distant. She'd pictured them neatly stacked, a colorful, silent tower. Now, seeing it airborne, on the verge of splintering on linoleum, she remembered the craftsman who'd carved them, his hands calloused from wood and glue. He had smiled, assured her of their durability. He never mentioned how often they'd fall. He didn't mention the grimace, either.