The Gathering

Some rituals are older than the people performing them. What this work holds is communion itself: the table as the oldest form of human connection, and a shared hour outlasting everyone who ever sat inside it.

Nobody here has a face, and it changes nothing. The figures are anonymous because the meaning was never personal. Take the features away and what remains is the act of assembling, repeated by every generation that ever had a table to gather at.

Warmth comes off the clay tones like heat off a wall at the end of a day. Whatever was said here is gone; the fact of the gathering is not.

A space holding it feels occupied and generous, the way a long table does, as though people had only just stood up and left.