There is a paradox that is at heart of making. To build is to witness decay and make new from it. To preserve is to acknowledge loss, to acknowledge what we wish to save. In the end, I know I can’t stop time or fire or forgetting, but I can make a space to exist among it all. Everything is brief, yet everything lives on. My work is never at its end. Maybe it’s a beginning, maybe it’s a fragment of something yet to come, maybe it will shift in the world’s flux and my own uncertain self. Maybe it’s just a record of now, or maybe it’s what processing the world looks like in this moment. And so I keep making, guided by what remains unknown.