Everything we record begins with the knowledge that we will not remain. Days are measured because they pass. Signals are stored because bodies move on. What stays behind are traces, often gathered without ceremony, often without knowing who will read them.

Each captured data point stands in for a moment once inhabited by a living presence. A rise in temperature recalls heat felt on skin. A mapped movement hints at a choice made, a route taken, a reason never fully spoken. These numbers are not neutral. They are residues of breath, labor, waiting, error, and loss.

The works respond to the same conditions they observe. As weather shifts and patterns drift, forms adjust, interrupt, or fail. Nothing here settles into permanence. This instability mirrors how lives unfold, shaped by contradiction. Care exists alongside neglect. Progress carries damage. Joy is inseparable from harm.