C A R R I A G E
D E B U T S A T T H E F L O R E N C E T R U S T S U M M E R E X H I B I T I O N 2 8 J U N E 2 0 1 8
A N
E X C E R P T
I am fascinated by what we build in the name industry and our rejection of its obsolesce. Along the rotting rails lies a line of wood. It ends where the track begins. And it’s not right.
“Tree’s don’t queue,” says our guide and darts into the underbrush, following what she claims was once a road. But I see no sign of infrastructure. We left any sense of direction long ago. Here the air is colder, the sun punches through the treeline and litters the earth like shrapnel.
The moss gives way to rock and shield. Not the porous karst of limestone I have grown accustomed to; this is granite. This land is solid and it is hurt.
Cut into the land like flesh, these wounds run deep and they scar.
We track these cuts, unaware and searching. I imagine it often begins like this. Curiosity and ignorance.
I imagine it’s a progress, a slow decline: degradation in half lives.
E X C E R P T
I am fascinated by what we build in the name industry and our rejection of its obsolesce. Along the rotting rails lies a line of wood. It ends where the track begins. And it’s not right.
“Tree’s don’t queue,” says our guide and darts into the underbrush, following what she claims was once a road. But I see no sign of infrastructure. We left any sense of direction long ago. Here the air is colder, the sun punches through the treeline and litters the earth like shrapnel.
The moss gives way to rock and shield. Not the porous karst of limestone I have grown accustomed to; this is granite. This land is solid and it is hurt.
Cut into the land like flesh, these wounds run deep and they scar.
We track these cuts, unaware and searching. I imagine it often begins like this. Curiosity and ignorance.
I imagine it’s a progress, a slow decline: degradation in half lives.