About the work

There is a specific kind of light that makes you think about how things are made. Not the making itself, but the *being* made. The way something is assembled, piece by piece, into a whole that will then perform some function. Or fail to. That light is often a fluorescent hum, a low, persistent buzz that says: *things are happening here, or at least they were designed to*. It doesn't ask if you're tired, or if your fingers hurt, or if you’ve been standing in the same spot for too long. It simply illuminates the task at hand, making everything equally legible, equally necessary in its place. The dust motes, the forgotten tool, the careful, repetitive motion of a hand that knows exactly where it belongs.