Annie Stout

Birth Year: 1988

There is an infinity between zero and one, an endless recession of halves: half of half, half of a quarter, half of an eighth...: .5, .25, .125, .0625, .03125...- decimals whose place values expand forever as their corresponding quantities diminish toward nothing and never arrive—like falling into a blackhole, an infinite compression—never not falling. And despite the voidish perpetuity spread between each number, each step, they are taken unconsciously, nonchalantly, casually crossing infinite interstices.

Motions are made, unbroken by discreet increments.

Destinations are reached regardless of the expanding vast between. But sometimes it is good to fall through.

Hair

Sinkslides

Tape