About the work

That blue balloon wasn't there yesterday. It appeared sometime in the late morning, snagged on the highest plank of the lumber stack, bobbing against the sky. Maybe it escaped from the kid’s birthday party down the street, or slipped from a clumsy hand in the park. The owner of the workshop, a man who sees every misplaced nail, still hasn't noticed it. He'll find it eventually, when he comes to pull wood for the next job, and he'll wonder how something so bright and light could have settled so high, so quietly. He won't wonder where it came from.