Seven pairs feels like seven versions of you waiting for the right afternoon. The scratches haven’t happened yet. For now they belong to future summers, and I hope one pair comes home completely wrong for your face and very loved.
What stayed with me is the desire to wear the scratches of the glasses before they have even been earned, as though experience could become a form of adornment.
I especially loved the final movement through rain, falling, being picked up, and getting lost in summer. The glasses begin as objects, but end as quiet witnesses to a life not yet lived.
Seven pairs feels like seven versions of you waiting for the right afternoon. The scratches haven’t happened yet. For now they belong to future summers, and I hope one pair comes home completely wrong for your face and very loved.
Fallen, lost, picked up, scratched - a beautiful way to describe the desperate lives of sunglasses.
What stayed with me is the desire to wear the scratches of the glasses before they have even been earned, as though experience could become a form of adornment.
I especially loved the final movement through rain, falling, being picked up, and getting lost in summer. The glasses begin as objects, but end as quiet witnesses to a life not yet lived.