Shifting Ground, Silo 6, Auckland (NZ)
Souvenir stands for holidaying worms. Novelty signs, decorative fruits, manually printed postcards.
Net bags, fruits and vegetables (real and unreal), plywood, sand, scoria, paint, cardboard, stainless steel fixtures, ball chain, Bic pen, tape, stainless steel chain.
I walk through a large park on the way to work every morning, and on those days when it rains, there bristle hundreds of earthworms squirming themselves over the concrete tracks. Moving steeply downhill, each step adds another zigzag in an attempted path of avoidance. Even then it is impossible to prevent myself from squishing some by accident—since a worm’s presence is sometimes noticeable only when my foot is bearing down on top of them—their existence snuffed out on the bottom of my shoe. My remorse lasts only a second, as the next step must be navigated more accurately this time, to avoid another death. Worms leave the ground when it rains because they finally get a chance to move easily overground. “Even a worm will turn!” the saying goes, but turn to where? On the other side of the concrete tracks there lies only more grass, more dirt, equally earthy and surely very similar to that from which they came.
 This saying doesn’t actually mean a literal turning, instead referring to an idea that even the meekest animal or person will eventually revolt.