Ever since I was a child, I’ve had this feeling of unease seeing something stationary that, in a better world, would be moving. A swing. A stopped clock.
The brain pre-loads expected motion. When it doesn’t arrive, something trips.
The object becomes a witness. The stillness, an accusation. The thing that should be moving feels like it is holding you responsible for the fact that it isn’t.
In that moment, only I have the power to decide its state. I have a choice.
I still don’t have a word for it. I don’t think there is a word for it. This is an attempt to photograph it instead.
A print-at-home zine of Accusatory Stillness. On the unease of seeing something stationary that, in a better world, would be moving. The object becomes a witness. The stillness, an accusation.
The zine is free, but if you value what I make, you're welcome to pay what you think it's worth.
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