Rebecca Warren: I wanted these new works to be somehow denser than previous bronzes in order to integrate them more completely with their painted surfaces, making them more concentrated, more intense.

The nature of that intensity emerged as they were being made. I came to imagine a wholly alien, unknown, hostile, vast, bewildering, faraway, barrenness where some Things might be placed — they being the only reality that could make any sense in such an environment.

From someone else’s point of view, the Things’ origin, purpose, and meaning could only be guessed at. They might be a warning, a contract, a place-marker, a homing beacon, a declaration of new ownership, a reply to a question no one knew they had asked. They could be bits off something — fallen parts of a craft, say. Or they might be the packaging it all came in. And who could know what scale they exist at? They might be a single letter or a whole library. Or the markings might be the irrelevant consequences of the mode of inscription of the actual message — like the reflected glare on a painting. Their position and orientation, and the proportions of their constituent materials might (or might not) be critical. And so on into a zone of strange, dislocating, alien potential.