About the work

Some things are too bright to be seen clearly. The mind protects itself, perhaps, or the light itself, in its abundance, simply overwhelms the structure built to contain it. So we look away, or look through, or look past the source, finding instead the halo, the penumbra, the faint glow cast upon adjacent surfaces. The flicker is a different kind of brightness, a thing that almost isn't, a present absence. It suggests a vulnerability that a steady flame might lack, a fragile certainty. And then the things around it become more certain by contrast, their heft and their form asserted against a dancing air. The pigeon knows this: the fleetingness of a crumb is what defines the hard-won grain.