About the work

There are things that persist, even when they’re not needed, even when they’re an imposition. The scent of a long-gone lunch, the shape of a handprint on a dusty rail, a habit that outlives its utility. We keep certain objects around, perhaps for the reassurance of their weight, their cool stillness against the skin, long after their purpose has been served. Sometimes, to knock them over is to perform an act of care, a small ritual of undoing, to show that even the most carefully balanced structures are temporary. The way the light falls in some places seems to know this, too, a temporary visitor, resting on a shoulder, then gone, leaving behind only the ghost of its warmth.