work in progress
most of the time when making my own work I’m not sure where it’s headed or why…
I’ve been thinking about time; the past and the now, how one is borne of the conception of the other and vice versa. We’re not as advanced as we seem to think. Moments flow, places remain. Stone always crumbles as does flesh and bone. Hubris is echoing about these days I’m trying to find other voices
