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‘Church bells ring slow on the empty street of Hoxton as I leave for the distant towers trembling in the heat. I’ve got a stitch on one side and boots rough against the ankles, each of my aching steps syncopated to the sound of bells, and the street wakes and thrusts to these dramatic rhythms. The skyline grows taller in the hot mist, hard steel prying on the decayed bricks of the lowrises. Sweat drips down my forehead, I close my eyes and open them again from the sting, the towers wet and blurry shake frantically from side to side, buildings bursting and swaying and all of these terrible images... The heavy mist spreads down the avenues and erases all connections to the ground. The city rises into the low sun. Its haunting towers ripping gold like water, rising in the heat. And I watch it grow beautiful again, in the eyes of another man leaving.’
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June 2021 |
‘Great American curb, channel for my dreams. so much more vast and smooth than our European streets, how I want to roll down your concrete gutter, into this empty space and loneliness which is America.’
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| ‘Sometimes a girl on a bus asks for your phone and she gives you wine in return, and with a few sips you get to know where she’s from — but when at her station, she turns around at the opening doors and sticks out her tongue at you. And that’s the last you’ll ever see of her!’ |
London, April 2019 |
‘I have dreamt of wide desert skies and falling into them with the curve of a string singing like dust in the wind.’ ‘Younger I would press my forehead against the window of planes floating along amber seas, and I would press it hard so the orange light covers up my eyes, and I would be left alone in its warmth kneeling before the shapes of new rising lands.’ |
March 2019 |
‘It’s all too familiar when the blinds play shapes on the walls and I listen to the early whisper from outside reaching through the window and I feel its warmth like the sting of breath against my skin, until it blinds me, breaking me down into the folds of my sheets, powerless to the terrible whisper ringing like forgotten dreams into my head.’ |
London, January 2019 |
‘A cloud strokes the sky and the world suddenly fades into the quiet call of its rising folds.’ |
London, January 2019 |
‘When the streets grow longer and the sounds of life are so close to me, the city stands provoking in the red eternal sky.’ |
Abidjan, Ivory Coast, October 2018 |
‘I watch couples buried deep in the shade of their room, feet shining secretively in the silver sky, brushing parts of stolen grass out of the open window. She stands over me, her long black hair revealing every once in a while, the glimpse of a sharp blue eye, though her face always stays hidden against the shimmers of the surrounding city.’ |
August, 2018 |
‘The local market blows yellow dust into the torn sky; shoppers run eyes closed into the new dusk.’ |
Market Shena, Saranda, Albania, July 2018 |
‘At around this time of year I would usually start dreaming of girls with shoulder high hair racing their way into warm summer crossings under midnight white skies, following the shadow of giants ahead that would never ever fade in the distance. I stared again into long halcyon lights shooting straight up from dying cities, and every street corner turning slowly into the night, enough time to feel I would yet be missing out on another love story this year.’ |
June, 2018 |
‘This morning I heard summer echoes high above the thin streets, violent as distant dreams.’ |
Belleville, Paris, April 2018 |
| ‘Lines of blue flutter behind blinds, peak into the midnight bronze of the tenement, electric and summoning.’ |
Houston, Texas, December 2017 |
| ‘Now the night’s just an old grin, heads nodding to the rhythm of headlights shaping dark living rooms.’ |
Easter NIght, Paris, April 2017 |
| ‘Tour people look up at me, though they don’t see me. They imagine what I am until they forget at the first chance they have.’ ‘I’m sort of part of the jungle now, walking in my sweats with a bag of dirty clothes amidst the gaze of foreigners coming to witness the real Paris.’ ‘There’s something about neon lights. Especially turquoise or red ones. Like a night dress for hotels, restaurants and such, a curious and tempting invitation, the city is teasing but I want to stay home.’ ‘The smell of sudden rain on hot cement flows through the windows and inside modest rooms. Some of the occupants defy timidly the running water with a hand or an arm, while others wash their face with a smile, try to rub in the scent that had been missing for so long.’ ‘Faint voices jolt me every now and then. Cries brought to me by the wind. Children cries, sharp and sinister in the distorting wind.’ ‘She looked at my paintings and didn’t say a word. No remarks, no compliments. She had yet said she liked guys who do things. She read my book facing me and discussed rhymes for a while.’ ‘Sometimes I watch the city night until its heavy darkness covers me up, until my own breath is heard from a distance.’ ‘A group of girls smoke a brown cigarette in the subway ashes blown away in the underground wind.’ ‘They scream at the view of green shades of hard rain covering up the city in waves of haunting blasts and wet lasting footsteps thru the streets.’
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| ‘The brushing of the girl’s hair is rough, her jaw flinches at every knot, she closes her eyes to the scraping sound. She notices my attention and the ritual becomes an act. She closes her eyes again, this time turning her back. Her gesture has softened, I feel she wants to tell me something new.’ Coventry, February 2017 |
| ‘On wide concrete waves slowly unfolding, hometime drivers, drink in hand, bathe in a purple dusk.’ |
Reston, Virginia, January 2017 |
‘Les cloches froides des rues vides déchirent la brume. Un village s’abandonne dans la beauté pâle de l’inquiétude.’ |
| ‘Have you ever heard the whispers of the still countryside which make a man go blind?’ |
Bretenoux, France, December 2016 |
| ‘Cars speeding down the intersection splash gold in the headlights, every time, glowing droplets against the dark falling too slowly to the ground.’ |
Europe, Paris, October 2016 |
I ‘The old city stirs and swells on sunset clouds, bows to the splendid light.’ II ‘Sharp towers loom in the red background strange tension claws ripping us into the dystopian night.’ |
Beaubourg, Paris, October 2016
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| ‘Dans l'élégante lueur froide d'une nuit de pluie, les pavés de rues faufilantes devenus marbre reflètent le discours des néons aux marcheurs couverts et asservis.’ |
Oberkampf, Paris, September 2016 |
‘Senior porch ladies watch the restless waves from their plastic flower printed folding chairs.’ |
Popoyo, Nicaragua, April 2016 |
‘The silent impression of a hard day in the slow circle of the vulture.’ |
‘Vision of perfectly spaced uniform cloud pattern
from inside the yellow-windowed bus.’
Homún, Mexico, February 2016 |
‘A vast iron sky, the menace in a bright heavy day.’ |
Houston, Texas, January 2016 |
‘The dawning town's
pale orange mist
creeps through the hills,
secretly working higher cliffs.’
Valldoreix, Catalunya, August 2016
‘Three cars follow each other closely at the first shudders of morning- There's something worth hurrying for or good hiding from.’ |
Mayfield Terrace, Edinburgh, December 2015 |
‘Over the rows of yellow pine trees and sharp grass hills, silhouettes form in the shallow clouds; Ancient shades guard the land.’ |
Highlands, Scotland, October 2015 |
‘Dusk green field, young fog pulses in lamp post light.’ |
Stockbridge, Edinburgh, November 2015 |
‘Crowne Hotel's hundred glass eyes in breathless midday heat follow in a vacant gaze venturers scouting shade to sleep.’ |
Plaza España, Madrid, August 2015 |
‘The Canal bares its emerald scales in the pale leftovers of the day.’ ‘By the waterside the Faubourg rooftop, sharp mansard shadow against the dusk, shelters the spreading crowd, witness of Apache nights waking.’ |
Canal Saint-Martin, Paris, June 2015 |
‘Bayou, a vague haven where the sky trembles when howls the shadow man.’ |
Buffalo Bayou, Texas, November 2014 |
| ‘In late year retrospect, half night suggests, beyond Darlington junction, an amber lining at street's end.’ |
Darlington, Montreal, November 2013 |
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