About the work

The world, sometimes, feels held together by string. Not a strong, taut string, but the kind that barely catches on itself, unraveling a little more with each breath of air. You find yourself watching for the loose end. It might be a thread from a sweater, or the faint arc a balloon makes across a room. What is the precise moment when something becomes truly ridiculous? It is a question that suggests a line, a border, a clear demarcation. But the boundary shifts, permeable and soft as the light filtering through a curtain. We are never quite sure if we’ve crossed it, only that the landscape has changed. What then, of the things we do in these new landscapes? The patient, deliberate movements that require a kind of internal rhythm, a certainty in the face of so much that is uncertain. There is a way of holding still, even in motion, that speaks to a deeper intention. An understanding that this too, is a form of listening.