One approaches, simply, the reality
Of the other eye. One enters, entering home,
The place of meta-men and para-things,
Of the other eye. One enters, entering home,
The place of meta-men and para-things,
And yet still men though meta-men, still things
Though para-things; the meta-men for whom
The world has turned to the several speeds of glass…
—Wallace Stevens
Though para-things; the meta-men for whom
The world has turned to the several speeds of glass…
—Wallace Stevens
We ask: the future of origin? The question rings eternal, the heritage, what fate brought a me, a you, to this place, this now. This chart, this search, a tale of connectivity.
Walking the Underpassage a few days ago, a bridge pillar, noticing text — this portion of the Underpassage with the basketball courts, just south of the skate park.
Intrigued in particular by the blue writing on the lower portion, stopped, settled in and studied. Photoed as possible. Followed along, the closeups. An intuitive intensity. A search. Mapping articulation. Say, a nature study, or simply, Art!
Possible to follow an order to retain a linear story? Doubt such an intent. I do think the visual impact is part of the journey. A
scattering, a mattering. For the artist, for me, for you.
Walking to the other end of the basketball court, a couple hundred feet from the pillar with the writing, a middle-aged man waved me over. With sleeping bag, pack, some food. We talked. He said you seem interested in the writing. I said yes. He said that's my writing, that's my story. We talked. I complimented him, asked are you OK? He said I am fine. Asked to take his photo. He consented. A direct intensity. I sensed him present to who and how he is as the story unwinds in this moment. And on… Now you are part of the story.
