When I entered my first year at art school, by virtue of testing out of freshman courses, I managed to squeeze my way into a senior level installation art class. I was in way over my head, but I did my best. During one of our collaborations one student had quarantined a portion of a stairwell and applied bright red sewing string to the walls, floor, and ceiling of the enclosure with a clear paste. We witnessed the slow, meditative task unfold as she lightly pulled at the intricate veinwork, and the whole space echoed with the taught crackle of the glue giving way as she re-collected the string.

Red became a theme for me in later years as a performance artist, and even now, when I make something with red string I remember the tactile experience of following that string, as the point between attached and detached made it's way around the room...