In my dreams, my subconscious pieces together parts of my day- the woman wearing red at the bus stop, the unfamiliar song on the radio, the scent of the man who passed too closely. I try to make sense of these traces, memories, senses. I am intrigued by the synchronicities that interject into our daily lives and the point where intention and chance intersect.

I want to know to what extent our objects become inseparable with notions of who we are. I look for stories left behind in found objects- an abandoned pair of jeans, a glove separated from its pair. When people leave their possessions behind, was it because they cared for an object too little or too much? How much of the person is left behind?