Time swells around emptiness. In tombs, bunkers, pots, drawers and suitcases - it inhabits the in-betweenness of physical material and buzzes obnoxiously in the periphery.  In the process of carving and casting space, what if we study not what is left (the present) but what is taken out (the absent) ?


Emptiness carries the power of infinite modernity - it is always relevant, always to be encountered, always to be felt by whatever timely body passes through it. It’s this modernity that allows us to stand in contrast with the static, and to feel the geological legacy of ancient, unmovable stone - or the urgency of disappearing craftsmanship in a temple.


The formal vocabulary of architectural thresholds, like tombs and doorways, tells us that the world is divided into an inside and an outside - a filled structure, and a gaping entrance. What power is there in the thin film in between?


The charged nature of the empty threshold invites empathy, urgency, and limbo. In Ukraine, it is bad luck to loiter in a doorway - for no one must stand too long in a state of indecisiveness. Doorways are the purgatory of space. Perhaps it is this purgatory that is a third element -( the one that causes discomfort but also invites the grief and imagination for the absence within space.) Like life itself, it can be many things, pleasant or unpleasant. 


When you carve stone from a cliff - the rhythm, strategy, and discomfort of the process does not live in the remaining walls, but rather in the empty space of the recesses and scratches that once held a physical material.


In the absence of this material, and in the presence of what is left behind, we begin to engage and propose what might have caused it to be so. In this process, we push the forgotten or missing into the present moment. By being on the threshold, in the live-space,  we can talk to ghosts that still have something to say.