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Sculpture

has shattered, and the pieces float silently, each turning on its own wire. The position of the elements in space varies constantly. They go up, then down, swarm, forming a mass, a layer, a surface or a wall.

Bits and pieces, segments made of wizened paper, like an aged skin, at once showing and hiding more than it shows. Something fragile and ephemeral emerges from these materials and forms. As silent as snow, dust, ash, stars.