folded wrinkles
akin to two setting suns
studio ramblings
there was a fear about being alone in the woods. of course, i wasn’t supposed to be alone. the light from the sun shines through, between a literal forest of trees, reaching upwards, close, midway, and far back. there is the hints of clearings on the ground, spots were the brush of the forest colors itself a light gray. peppered like an argument. gray areas of courage during these times. questions of legitimacy and legacy. the trees would not have cared. they would have stood in silence, dropping their seeds on the roof of the cabin. loud bangs and animals’ feet tapping. three nights of phone calls, readings, and unfamiliar fears. a view in the movement of the sun, perhaps a prayer spoken, wrapped and covered, reaching slightly towards the sky.
over a field of art, where monuments seem to graze like cattle, clouds passed eagerly teasing moments of wetness. luckily, it wasn’t so. instead, the work stood still, approached through a climb of the barely visible path. it appears at the left edge of the photograph. snaking gently across the grassy field, towards a geometric architecture. some of the tall grass appears to be indifferent about the presence of this intervention. when i approached the cement work, it rattled through its concrete pores. the rebar and metal seemed to shimmer, like a creature on its deathbed. it felt inappropriate to climb the steps into the work; or maybe that was the do not climb sign.
at this time of year, around 3 in the afternoon, the setting sun hits the wall of my room in the most beautiful (and frankly dramatic) way. it slips like honey and colors the room in malicious oranges and frantic reds. it was opportune to intervene. i placed a reflective, patterned paper on the wall, uncomposed and full of folds and wrinkles. it reads like a sideways river, flowing vertically. the part outside the field of focus, blurs into a sequin fabric. these ripples would drizzle the walls of my room, but the axis of the earth has moved this river of light (once again).
in the same week, to see this kunath painting and celebrate/mourn a first night. the setting double sun, moving across time zones. the strangeness of time and distance. how the sun(s) set(s) means sun(s) rising elsewhere. or how days begin at different moments, the sunset, passing midnight, or other observations. like in music, resonance in the visual pulls apart the soul, an encounter that unexpectedly rhymes. the candles mimic the suns, or make the sun one again in this overlap. i write to you on this last night, when there is even more light, but the last of this kind of light until next year. may there be many blessings.