A monument. Perched above our gravitational experience, leads our gaze to the sky. Encircling us in an undelineated colour field. Irreverent. What is meant to humble us only serves to make everything that surrounds us feel small.
Walls, like skin, have layers. The smooth rendered outer surface doned in aspirational colours. Resilient, up to a point. Its underneath we find nerves, bones, muscle. Form following function and function following form, joined in utility. Delineate
Shadows by day, objects collect. Some are no doubt placed there with intent. Most, I imagine, gravitate there unconsciously. It is flat and out of the way. United in a protective layer of dust.
This place. How many shoes trod up, down. Full of purpose. Urgency even. Tending to repetitive needs. Delineated by class and capital. Tread. Listing to the left. Softened by soles.
Behind the scenes. The labour of efficiency. Built upon the efforts of other people, in other times. Quickly made redundant by other efforts of other people. Ubiquitous for a time. Relics gather. Pushed aside, ramshackle, rusting or recycled. A few
Towards the light. An opening. An opportunity. We lost you there for a moment. My mind was elsewhere. That reminds me of something. Meanwhile my legs ascend the stairs.
He ascends. To meet a higher part of the same wall face to face. Taller, smaller, one point perspective, away, away. Looking just beyond the tips of his toes he can see…
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