once more in ny, this place is like therapy for my brain, toes and eyes.
the intersection of N people, heading in clashing directions, some survive, others fly.
new york is the best city to describe a place where there is no place at all, so many appropriations of a space which is constantly shifting and where its constant barriers say i belong to no one, but i want you to think i belong to you.
possession is a complex state of being.
we want to call this home.
yet i believe we possess nothing.
we walk and run and stay static in many places, dromology makes our perception of speed transit at distinct paces, this city pulses on this fact, everything moves at rates that don´t contain any specific pattern, yet they are all continually moving forward, but in endless directions.
i guess ones eyes must keep up with the fact that we all are treading towards the "end", when we must pay attention to the sparks, reflections, and refractions that lye in the middle.
high line park.
it rained, the sun was shinning on one side of the park and on the other it was pouring, my shoes got wet, i had an umbrella. the light was white, it lit up the water.
spencer finchs´, "the river that flows both ways" is simple (simple in the positive aspect of simple, meaning less is more) but extensive work into the analysis and the abstract representation of the color conditions of the hudson river in the period of 1 day.
a cigarette on the border of the water, a plane taking off in the distance, the sky cleared into yellow and beige shades, rocks on the shore growing electric green plants. a broken down dock, a rusted fence, the city in the distance depicting the imposed position of human in nature.. both subsisting out of one another to create eccentric harmony.
glorious intoxication brewed by skies, rain, sun, rocks, pavement and old traintracks.