About the work

The things we notice, sometimes, are simply what is left over from what was meant to be. Not what was intended, but what remains. A feather on the ground is not flying. It is not even falling, not anymore. It is simply where it is now. And the wet earth, too, is only wet earth because something else has passed through. It is an argument for absence, or for an attempt that didn't quite take. The new paint on the table, the dampness of the root, all of it points to a moment just concluded, or just beginning. A pause.