For Use with Slow Burning Film Only, a title that comes directly from the object’s engraved warning—a cautionary footnote meant to prevent disaster. This notion seems almost quaint to the 21st-century ear—not merely a warning, but an anticipatory call to action, as if the movement of film through a projector was not only possible, but expected. Built from a vintage Keystone projector, the sculpture nods to the golden age of cinema, when film was flammable and images were carved by light. Here, the reels have been replaced by spirals made from watch springs, mimicking rotation without motion. A brass lens projects its beam across an optical ring and a filter before it lands on a nude woman’s torso. The moment is still, but the image is charged, perhaps waiting to ignite, as the warning anticipated.

The whole piece walks a fine line: part relic, part seduction, suspended in a choreography of broken dreams and lost promises.

Nothing moves, but everything suggests motion—the coiled spirals, the tensioned rod, the suspended image.

Like the title, the work lingers—measured, unresolved, and built to smolder.