I feel as though I am creating these spaces to simulate the outside world—bringing in flowers, pollen pods and packaging material to keep me company, as though to impose the objects into having a similar experience; to feel what I’m feeling, or to tell me how they feel, so that I, too, can know for myself. The floral and plastic phrases as an isolated statement sound differently than they do as a collective whole. skewed shifting, gentle pinging floats in as an isolated glitch, a still recording and manipulation. The digitized, gelatinous and transitional forms hold my feelings of nostalgia, rumination, regurgitation, gestation and desperate preservation. A reliable incongruence with pockets of clarity. A dripping dream of touch. It is an elaborate reframing and prodding of a slippery attempt to grasp ambiguity.