Not far from the city center, a small apartment with white walls and no windows contains a lamp, its light flickering because of the changing electric current. In a white, square office in a factory, a centralized control panel automates the cutting of steel plates. In moments like these, interior space becomes a giant light box. 

Last fall, when the leaves began to change color, I tried to preserve a fleeting, outdoor scene in my studio—another windowless, white box—by arranging fallen pine needles into a shape that sunlight entering a window (here delineated by a blue square) might make on the ground.

Through contrasting natural and human-made materials, Light Box conveys the struggles of ordinary people caught between artificial environments and the natural world.