TEN THOUSAND SPRINGS, 2013

These pieces are a search party sent out after quiet. They look for the thin silence that hangs between seconds, the stillness that shows itself only when time is slipping past. Each surface is built from what remains—layers of text and paint laid down and then partly sanded away, so that the work is shaped as much by removal as by addition. What stays is the residue of many decisions, like the worn step on a threshold where people have passed for years.

The words folded into the pieces come from poems and theology that circle light, water, and time. They speak of what glitters, what moves, and what vanishes, and they do it in fragments, broken and buried in pigment. Video stills from Ten Thousand Springs in Hagerman, Idaho, are stacked and fused into single images, as if the creek’s endless falling could be compressed into one held breath. The result is not a straight line from before to after, but a sense of depth—a well of time you look down into, rather than a road you walk along.

Mirrors and glass run through the work like a second river. They catch the image and the text and send them back, doubling and shifting what you think you see. As you stand before the pieces, you find your own face drifting in and out among the words about light and water. The work reflects on itself and on you in the same motion, until it is hard to say where the image ends and the viewer begins, and for a moment that shared, quiet space is what is left behind.