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Sit with the idea of an object and it will linger. Let it in and it will metamorphise into some strange organic abstraction. Hold it long enough and it will grow, certainly it will remain, and it will change—a fazing in and out of spacetime that all things do. Still lifes are just like that. Seen from a certain vantage point all still lifes are a little entropic. They present as a banal stability but their shadow is the continuously changing perceptual relationship with spacetime. If you tune in, they’re a deep dizzying dazzling psychedelic well of ethereal human connection to being. A still life is a lens of perception—a brief snapshot of objects in aesthetic repose. The more I stare at these objects, the more I see objects relating to other objects, and objects relating to their world. The more I get wrapped up in the still life and how this simple presentation of objects is a conversation full of deep esoteric meaning out of reach. I can’t quite figure it out, but it’s there, this seemingly unending depth right here—shrouded in banality of being. 

-Ryan