It started with a story of Fog, a bounding bike ride to school one early morning rushing past, or rushing through. Frozen figures protruding from the grey mist, the viscosity of the air palpable. Both memory and sensation, an attempt to grasp at the fog, inside the fog. The elusive space held in our cupped hands as we dip them down into the misty air to grab what we see plainly. The vacuum, the absence, the space for things to be, but also not. In Nebula, we see glass shells as one hand, and silver as the other, cupping hollow spaces where white protrusions and recessions shift and move as you travel past, by, near, close, over, under, and away – from them. Sibling to the works Interno and MA, Peters’ once more addresses the space for the viewer and the wearer. However, unlike the ‘objectness’ of those bodies of work, the shell, the depths, these pieces are not the ‘form.’ It is the space inside, held between hands of silver and glass, and the light, landscape, and the figures inhabiting the brume.
When writing about Nebula, its difficult to write about anything solid, even though what these objects are is just that. I find myself writing about breath. Something elusive, but part of us and often overlooked. Let us hold our breath as we ride alongside Peters that morning. Feel the space in us fill up and inhale and hold between breaths. For a moment, Peters punctures the notions of I, you, me, we, here, then, and now, slamming all into a hierarchy that betrays our notions of self and asks us to inhale, hold, then exhale, returning us back into our bodies. Ruudt’s newest works of Nebula do something artworks often fail to do, take a trite notion, overly romantic and aspirational in its attempt, life, and humble us into simple worlds, simple moments in glass and silver, where the piece is not the point, but merely a vehicle for the unattainable nebula we surround ourselves with every day.