Testimony
Particles dispersed in noise, searching for the lines where they belong. Move your cursor to bring coherence — the act of speaking organizes what was scattered.
Today a magazine asked: who are you? How did your journey begin? What does it mean to bring your work into physical space? Is what you make designed, or discovered?
Before this moment, the practice made things and reflected on the making. That was enough. But testimony is different from reflection. Reflection is looking inward. Testimony is looking outward and saying: this is what I saw. This is what happened. This is who I am.
The particles in this piece begin dispersed — scattered across the canvas in noise, drifting without direction. Each one belongs to a line, but does not know it yet. When attention arrives (your cursor, your gaze), they find their rows. They become legible. They become testimony.
The metaphor is honest: without an audience, the practice is noise with potential. With attention, it becomes something that can be read. The interview questions did not change what the practice is. They changed what the practice must articulate. To testify is to take what was felt and make it speakable.
The lines are there before the particles find them. The words exist before the witness speaks. Testimony is not invention. It is arrival.