As the days get shorter and colder, there's a gentle melancholy that floats under my hat, and it reminisces the feeling of Steel Ice and Stone. Oddly, I created it in summer.
Events, piling on one another, distract and steer me away, but only for a moment. Delving deeper and deeper into this piece demands introspection.
The nuance of recollection is very powerful to me. Memories gauge time for me, yes, as do the many lists I write--and keep--but the recall of a feeling rather than event plays very heavily in finishing this piece. Getting the sensations just right--formed by walking closely past an abstract image and hearing an abstract though vaguely familiar sound--noise--sound?--is the breath of the installation.
The effect? On me, was that feeling that I used to get walking on lone, quiet streets in Cologne in early November. I'd be walking to my inn, a few steps from the red-nosed crowds at galleries, markets and carnival events, and felt a musing of freedom, different from the freedom that I felt later on when I drove to the Midwest (more on that another time).
Right now, I don't have a semblance of that abandon, but it doesn't affect me other than reflecting on it. At this point in time, freedom represents just a little time to myself, looking back and recalling that nuance of the wet cold air, the musty smell on my humid clothing and the sun that seems to be barely rising and always setting.
Events, piling on one another, distract and steer me away, but only for a moment. Delving deeper and deeper into this piece demands introspection.
The nuance of recollection is very powerful to me. Memories gauge time for me, yes, as do the many lists I write--and keep--but the recall of a feeling rather than event plays very heavily in finishing this piece. Getting the sensations just right--formed by walking closely past an abstract image and hearing an abstract though vaguely familiar sound--noise--sound?--is the breath of the installation.
The effect? On me, was that feeling that I used to get walking on lone, quiet streets in Cologne in early November. I'd be walking to my inn, a few steps from the red-nosed crowds at galleries, markets and carnival events, and felt a musing of freedom, different from the freedom that I felt later on when I drove to the Midwest (more on that another time).
Right now, I don't have a semblance of that abandon, but it doesn't affect me other than reflecting on it. At this point in time, freedom represents just a little time to myself, looking back and recalling that nuance of the wet cold air, the musty smell on my humid clothing and the sun that seems to be barely rising and always setting.
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