A fragment of bark I found in Toronto almost twenty years ago remained with me, quietly displayed among my things. After it was accidentally knocked from its shelf, it broke into two pieces.
Rather than repairing the break, I carefully perforated the bark and connected the fragments with three linen threads. The process became an act of attention: observing the material, working slowly, allowing the threads to hold what had separated without pretending the rupture had never happened.
The distance remains visible. The empty space becomes part of the work.
Can two things belong together while remaining separate?
