October 18 2006

Text By Greg Fallis

Muted light, muted sound, muted time. Staring at the stillness of these simple shells, curled like cats on the table top, we understand that the subtleties of light and sound and time are all related.

The light is diffused, casting little shadow. The sound is diffused, soft on our ears. Time is diffused, the age of each delicate shell is distinguishable only by its relative deterioration, the endless washing away of itself.

Here we are, perpetually entombed in Wordsworth's "holy time," quiet as a nun breathless in adoration. Light has lost its edges. Sound has lost its substance. Time has lost all meaning. The entire world is reduced to a planter, a saucer, and three white shells.