These works were made in different U.S. states over a course of time I didn’t plan, something like two years. Gravity is palpable; there will always be moments of temporary rest before floating away. The studio is on both sides of Lake Michigan or in the desert in Nevada, near a Double Negative. Plugged into the world, a node in a logical data space, physical location is irrelevant. Or it is, I’m not. The studio is an inside out sock. Wind can carry ashes away, blow old dust over old dust, air can fill any and all containers without prejudice. Locations are assembled through the lens and dispersed again through them, ending up places that are never initially anticipated. It isn’t possible to say what the constant is, but it can be presumed to exist. Variables abound.