Airports are fascinating places to me. The structures themselves are built to function as catalysts of consumerism – the towering glass walls and sleek interiors inject one with a sense of need, of want, of hunger, all of which are validated by the sense of being caught in transition, without a sense of place. Humans have a proclivity for cultivating extraneous sources of security and comfort when their most fundamental attachments to their known, cultivated reality are severed – when they are floating in a foreign place, a foreign history, a foreign memory; when they have somehow lost their language, their kin, their god, their food. Airports feed off these proclivities, magnify them, and use them to justify irrational motivations to consume. It is displacement on speed, and when you are stuck in these places longer than usual – longer than the time it takes for the catalyst to peak – you become a refugee of modernization.