Carbon, fixative, paper (130/70 cm)

I made the frame as usual then didn’t do anything with it for weeks. It just sat there daring me to act. Sometimes I have to sneak up on myself if I am to act completely without thought or intent. I did this almost in passing. An act of defiance against the contained expanse of blankness.

It’s called In but nothing here is In at all. Only On. The shaded object seems to be in a wobbly window. Does the window reveal only part of a bigger object? The window itself is in a frame. Or is it one object responding to the frame, captured in the process of falling, floating, bouncing, flying. Is the window moving, revealing different parts of the object? But its an illusion. A pretence. They’re just marks. The records of gestures on an area of surface. My eyes relate them, my brain collaborates and language facilitates. In reverse, without language, everything we see would be two dimensional. Flat. On.