What confluence of divinity and science and weird chance put color next to color and shape? If art is the job of cracking open pieces of the world to look inside, look. Place your eye at the keyhole, be quiet, wait for a glimpse of the first day.
Samuel Moyer is trying to see; framing the universe; balancing artifacts; reconciling with gravity. His objects stand, if they stand, at the confluence of the natural and the made worlds, and ask where people exist, coexist within those worlds. They are tenuous interrogatives, silent entropy, cues to places we want to be, but aren’t. Because this work is made from found, donated, and thrown-away material, it is collaborative and revealed, rather than made.
Why does it stand up?