RUNNING WATER (2019 - ongoing). Some animals mark the boundary of their territory with piss; some with marks like torn tree bark; and some with sounds — howls, barks, cries, screams. Some with walls and fences. Of these, sound is the least stable. 
How far away one can hear a sound — take, for example, the call of a fox — the distance will vary with geography, landscape, weather and across individuals. Nevertheless, it is impossible to mistake. But, like all sounds, it dies the moment it is born. Can we take the marker of the territory as a direct translation of the territory itself: flickering in and out of our attention, radiating outward from a mobile body? Can sounds make a home?