River cobbles cobbled together against the snow.

Building this quickly brought Richard Long’s work to mind…(physical, elemental)…and then, interestingly, strangely, anthropomorphically, the photo brought to mind the paintings of Lowry; his  huddled figures hurrying to and fro…(by contrast cultural, humanist)… which brought to mind “bring me your tired, your poor your huddled masses…”  and ‘masses’ closed the circle back, in huddled physicality.

Another storm, another 15 inches of pure white snow.  Everything seems to stop, and is covered, then muffled.  Silence.  No traffic sounds.  Then the strange scraping noises, unseen, of snow plows on the street, and snow shovels in driveways.   ‘Inner children’ emerge.

Christo and Jean Claude always come to mind – hard not to wonder….

Further inspiration from  William Burroughs, who subverted received narrative through ‘Cut Up,’ reading text in sequences other than which the author intended, might agree.  The familiar made strange, prescribed meaning denied.

Gaston Bachelard wrote that  ”Linear readings deprive us of countless daydreams.”

This project attempts something similar with the text of the city.

From home to work, there is a usual route, a path that follows conventions of movement.  A quotidian reading of place.  This route might be driven, or public transport might be taken.  It might be walked in a conventional, ‘prescribed’ manner:  along the sidewalk, cross at the lights, around the block etc.

To defamiliarise, to read past the received narrative, a line is ruled across the map, from home to work. The unruly course is then to try to walk the line.  This where the strange-making happens. The seemingly characterless shortest distance from A to B is contrasted with the actual route walked, trying to follow the line.   The hard line and wandering/wondering line are drawn over one another. Photographs are taken as a serial vision along the route.  The resulting readings of place are quite different from the prescriptive, totalised narrative of the map.

I have done these walks in Singapore, Wellington New Zealand, and Denver Colorado.

Here is the map of the first hardline walk, in Singapore.  The wide outside line tp the west is the taxi route – the ‘familiar narrative”, comprised mainly of tunnel and highway, via air conditioned cab.  I will add some photos of more interesting spots along the way…

An ongoing project…

Living in cities in different countries has nurtured an interest in how walking experiences compare between metropolitan areas.   How navigable on a simple practical level, how interesting as a pedestrian, how suited to more adventurous roaming.

The idea of City can be understood through the metaphor of text.

blocks of city blocks of text

The comparison is stronger when we think of negotiating a city with a map in hand:  A two dimensional, ink on paper representation –  literally a text of the city.   Both text/map and city itself, are interpreted through our bodies.  Negotiating and understanding text is characterized by reading, while negotiating and understanding cities can be characterized by walking.  (Urban designers plays close attention to the walkable experience of cities).  Both text and cities have authors, conventional narratives, sub texts, etc.  On a map, conventional narratives are quite apparent, (such as hierarchical and prescribed routes), while subtexts can be hidden, (maps are unlikely to point out ‘dangerous’ areas, or regions socially restricted, for example).  On the ground, reading the city is more nuanced, and can be quite a contrast to the totalizing determinism of the map/text.

“What is more beautiful than a road?

It is the symbol and the image of an active varied life”.

George Sand, Via Gaston Bachelard

(Blue Ridge Parkway, Smokey Mountains, North Carolina)

Quote from a poem by Arseny Tarkovsky, Andrei’s Dad. (Revisited in ‘Mirror’).

Black marker note book scribble by Bruno.

Standing in the right hand lane, mesa landscape.

Chess … a metaphor for lifes game/struggle/battle.

With over sized pieces, an indeterminable number of squares, at 45 degrees to the board, obscured with detritus?

At the same time, the organic matter, both dead and living, claiming back the Cartesian grid, says more than could ever be written on a headstone.

roaring unmarked through the dawn

The hut be anticlimactic -

One sweaty story, among stories of others

The trail will appeal again

where sweat has context

and I feel purposeful –

sweating along a trail, wishing the hut closer, my pack lighter