we cannot enter into a space without becoming a part of it; without becoming it, in some small, significant way.
this piece is a reflection of landscape as living entropy, of all the ways we are here but not the same, how we are remade by time and light and environment. it is a place for contemplation, for awe, for introspection. it is a piece that has to do with the life held within anything alive, of time, and the arrangement of their atoms in space, of how we are here and how we are alive in so many ways, in so many forms. the way light hits us all the same, in bursting, beaming, multi-colored light.
by being inside the space, you are communicating with the flowers, with all the life held within the exhibition space. your breath, your touch, even just your presence alone has an impact on everything, and in reverse, them onto you. you exist together, here. it's not just a garden, not just a cathedral, but something different, driven by connection and reflection and something individual to each participant. there is no separation, the piece says, we all change together, even if it is on incredibly different time scapes and in different forms.
we share this changing with everything: the air, the ground, every inch of all the space between us. the piece asks: what do you see? what do you think of, in a space so full of beautiful things growing into their own ghosts? the haunting of change, of expectation, of knowledge that what is now will not stay the same. would it be lonely, to not be haunted by something so much bigger and older and kinder than you?
atop the hanging flowers and flora, a projection flashes a kaleidoscope of ranging colors and spells out poems letter by letter. the poems are all original pieces centering on themes and ideas of being alive, of changing, and reflecting back on the effects of time and stories and identity. all together, it is an exhibition on what it is to be alive and be grounded in a place, and then to dissolve into shadows and become scattered across surfaces, of worlds and lives and growing things, like light itself – ever-shifting, ever-changing, moving so fast we cannot catch it, cannot hold it still in our hands – like so much light, it is a near-blinding thing.
transcript of the included poems:
THE SHAPES IN THE AIR ONCE AGREED NOT TO BE BIRDS, AND YOU, ALONGSIDE THEM, BECAME WIND, BECAME SKY.
QUADRATIC COLORS IN THE WAY THE SKY LOOKS LIKE AN ENDLESS BLUE. IN THE WAY WITH ONE LOOK YOU ARE STRUCK ALIVE.
HERE WE ARE WITHOUT ARMOR, WHERE WE NEVER MAKE IT TO THE END OF OUR STORY. BUT STILL WE MEET, STILL WE FALL, ALL THE SAME.
YOU AND I AND THIS BELIEF OF THE ETERNAL. THIS MOVEMENT, AND HOW IT RUINS US. HOW IT MAKES US.
I AM LIT UP FROM THE INSIDE OUT. EVERY INCH OF MY SKIN IS IGNITED, EVERY WORD I SAY IS: KINDLING. BLAZING. RAW.
LIFE HAS A VOICE AND IT IS BEAUTIFUL, IT IS THE WIND IN YOUR EARS, ROARING AND RACING AND RUNNING OUT OF BREATH, BUT NEVER OUT OF HEART.
IS THIS DETERIORATING? OR SOMETHING IN THE MAKING?
EVERYTHING I AM IS STORIED: MY EYES, MY WORDS, MY BLOOD. THIS IS THE WAY BURNING BEGINS, BURNING ENDS.
YESTERDAY HANGS OVER US LIKE AN IMPOSSIBLE DAYBREAK, ALL OF THE WOUNDS WE BELONG TO, BLOSSOMING IN THE LIGHT.
IN TIME, THE SONG SINGS ITSELF, MOVING SOFT, AND SLOW, AND LIGHT.
AND WE ARE MAGIC UPON ITSELF, OF LIGHT AND UNYIELDING ASTONISHMENT.
THE WORD FOR WHAT YOU ARE DOES NOT EXIST. SO MAKE IT, SPEAK IT.
HERE ARE THE VISIONS AND VERSIONS OF YOU, AND HOW WE HOLD THEM ALL UP TO THE LIGHT, THE LIGHT, THE LIGHT.
OH, WHAT THE LIGHT HAS DONE TO ME.
I TAKE MYSELF INTO THE WORLD AND BECOME A MENAGERIE OF MY OWN CHANGING.
IN A MEMORY OF WIND, YOU TRY TO FORGET YOUR ROOTS. YOU WILL COVER THE WHOLE SKY, IN WILD, IN DREAMS, IN WINGS.
THERE IS ALWAYS SO MUCH TO BE DONE AND I AM THINKING ONLY ABOUT WHAT IT WOULD BE LIKE TO THE BE THE ONE TO PICK BLUEBERRIES IN THE SPRINGTIME.
WE ARE WAITING FOR THESE WOUNDS TO HEAL, BUT HOW DO WE SAY THIS? WE SAY, ONCE, THERE WERE GENTLER DARKNESSES.
WE ARE SHAPED LIKE YESTERDAY BUT WE ARE NOT THE SAME. THAT'S THE TRICK: WE NEVER ARE.
THE WORLD IS NOTHING BUT ENDING. BUT BEGINNING. THIS IS A LUCKY THING.
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