ORBIT

Orbit is the sister show to Echoes, though it moves through a different register entirely. Where Echoes was about the reverberations of choice, the way memory and imprint return to us changed, Orbit is about the act of looking. I keep returning to a particular gesture: drawing a double circle, circling in on something before I let myself land in its center. That gesture is the spine of this work. It is less about a destination than about the orbit that precedes it.

At the center of the show is a large portal, nearly two hundred pounds of clay built around its own absence. It appears to pull itself inward, as if collapsing toward its own center under the weight of its own mass. It feels like the gravitational center of the show, the body around which everything else orbits, vulnerable precisely because of its own scale.

Around that center, the same gesture takes different forms: slabs of clay suspended and layered until accumulation itself becomes an aperture, something to look through rather than at; delicate constellations shaped through a negotiation between intention and chance in collaboration with the kiln, their accumulated points casting shadow drawings of their own; and cyanotypes that hold a single shadow still, a moment in time fixed in light.

Across the show, looking is part of the work. Nothing here is meant to be taken in from a single vantage point. Like an orbit, understanding comes from circling, from approaching the same form again from a different angle, and accepting that what resolves into clarity from one position may dissolve again from another.