Each droplet is a mark.

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Collectively they make a composition. This composition sits upon the floor, which acts as the ground, making a painting. The drops are not stuck down so the painting is not static. It can change. It will change. It is both in flux and finished; completed by the contemplation of the audience and (perceptually and physically) altered by their movement over the painting’s surface.



Each droplet is an object. Collectively they have been placed and upon the ground forming  a collage. Despite being dry, they have been manufactured to ensure that they look painterly and wet. The collage is painterly. An imitation of both painting and collage, and neither. A deconstruction of painting; and not.



Each droplet is evidence of artistic action. A trace of immediacy distilled in time through a medium of quick drying plastic.  This immediacy is both real and contrived. Molten plastic was dribbled, dropped and splatted onto poly-sheets, placed upon a table. Each fast action, sealed and wrapped weeks before they were placed upon the floor and used to make a chaos that is a cosmos of control.



Each droplet is a word. Collectively, spectrums and contrast are sentences within an epic poem. Optical trickery makes shapes upon the ground and gives structure to the work. Each shape becomes a stanza. Each negative form a narrative of something that was there.



Each droplet is a sculpture. Anti-form, the process of production evidenced within their form. It is. Collectively they are a single sculpture; scatter art. This sculpture does not exist upon a single plane, nor in isolation. The droplets are not flat, but concaves. They sit upon the floor and push the air skyward. Shiny, they reflect light around the room that frames them.



Each droplet is an X. Collectively they form a composition that is an instinctive use of the golden ratio. Proportions of the floor, the room, the windows and the light were formative and continue to be. Mathematics biologically ingrained through evolution, forces, at point of creation and encounter, responses to elements within and outside itself; apophenia to π.

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Each droplet is a grain of sand. Each grain is beautiful; it can be moved, admired, loved, coveted, stolen. Each grain is pointless; vacuous, repulsive decadence. Collectively they are plasma. Neither liquid nor solid, finished and not yet started. They and the floor become 囲碁 igo, beach, tug boat, castle. The room that holds them empty, it is a child’s universe; a sandpit.

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Each droplet is a prop. Collectively they are an almost intangible and easily missed artwork. Their production is a service. Within the ‘empty’ room their discovery and encounter is an event.



What each droplet is, collectively are and their context is, both important and not.

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This statement is a contradiction.