Thursday, November 09, 2006


9 November 2006. Only in these days, golden sun, cool air... "Every conversation is part of the finished piece." Icelandic artist, snatch of conversation as recorded in New Yorker on table. A diner on Tenth Avenue. Which is known.   Marshland road past the sign announcing private access, heap of farm structures at industrial scale--a kind of Arc d'Triomph into realm of emptiness--rutted gravel gives way to stubble fields... Harvest past, now just the gray-brown earth, pools of shallow water reflecting an uncolored sky. Dun-colored birds, almost unseen, a pair of them--impossible dance, late light...

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