Months ago, deep into lockdown, dealing with the gravity of time and the overwhelming weight of present became a kind of obsession. I kept throwing clay balls, squeezing them against each other, rolling them over dirt and surfaces, intentionally weathering them. In my mind they were transforming into the throwing stones used to punish sinners with lapidation into a slow and painful death. Now was stoning our familiar world to oblivion. Unsure of how to create an experience of this inescapable sentence, I hang on my garden wall these weights of NOW, these ceramic mass moments. I keep looking at them every morning contemplating the loss of past routines and habits and relationships, searching for a way of using these red clay balls in a work that talks about how NOW feels into this period of isolation.

This morning I saw that one of the moments dropped overnight and broken into pieces. It gave in to gravity and time as everything gives in at some point. In a quiet and unsolicited way a moment was lost and a weight was released. Moving on just happened, one small step forward, one spot emptied and free to fill in with something new. I still wonder whether this staging of the clay balls on my garden wall is the right one, whether it works. It seems though I am one step closer to the answer.