About the work

There is a kind of deep listening that only comes after the rain has stopped. It’s not about the sound itself, but the stillness it leaves behind, a sort of stretched quiet that pulls at your attention. You start to notice the hum of the world underneath the world, a frequency that was always there but now has room to expand. A minor detail can suddenly feel monumental, not because it has changed, but because everything else has fallen away around it, leaving it isolated in a new clarity. The things you carry, the tools you use, they too become part of this amplified quiet, vibrating with an internal logic that might only be audible to the one who holds them.