Notes on Restraint

March 14, 2026

Removing one element did not simplify the piece — it clarified the intent entirely.

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Some objects locate you before you locate them. This one arrived on a Tuesday and has not moved since.

Forty-five minutes before the doors opened. The work makes a different kind of sense when nobody else is in the room.

When something can be replaced, it will be. I only collect what cannot.

The city does not slow down in February. It refines.

At 1:50 scale, the entrance is exactly large enough to be humbling.

Six months of silent work. Then: a single morning of extraordinary noise.

The photograph I am most known for took eleven years to reach the trigger. The shutter speed was 1/4000th of a second.

Three years underground. Whatever is bottled there is currently no one's business but ours.

People ask how long I spend in the darkroom. I tell them: however long the print needs.

Three thousand names on the waitlist for something made in a room I can barely stand upright in.

No windows, no clocks, no interruptions. Three days of work that will last a decade.

Light from the west window coloured every swatch in the same shade of gold. We stayed until the building told us to leave.