About the work

It is rare for an ending to feel like a beginning. The light, for example, is always collapsing, becoming something else, but here it almost suggests an opening up, a kind of inverse of dawn. Things get darker, but the mood, by contrast, seems to brighten. The stakes feel low, which is a luxury, even when the air bites. A certain kind of warmth is only possible when you’re cold, a specific kind of freedom only when you’re bound by the day’s short hours. The ash falling makes the ground itself a soft, temporary thing. Even the sand, you imagine, would feel different, less permanent.