A MAN THAT IS NOT YOUNG, AND IS NOT OLD, USES A WOOD FOLDING RULE TO TRACE HIS SIGHTLINE.

it is not just the shape of the mountains...

I want to reach out
I want to grab that shape
just above that forest green at the far reaches of my sightline
just below that sky blue

it is the shape of the sky...
{this is where you are not listening... or you are not liking...  what I am saying...}

here from these two feet
to them
but never really to them
always out there further
that mass of them
the one that disappears as I draw near
not the horizon
but the place immediately beyond

it is the shape of the sky where it meets the mountains...
{this is where you pretend to understand... but clearly... you do not understand}

a place so hidden
so natural, so isolated
a place teenagers go late in the evenings to put themselves inside each other

I want to grab that place
with the flesh on the bones of my fingers
I want to press hands full of the surrounding leaves inside my sternum
fill the cavity my ribcage contains
keep it there until fall
and burn the pile to mark winter’s arrival

with some sense of loss...
some sense of dread...
some sense or something...
some sense of something between...
loss and dread

it is the shape of the mountains where they meet the sky...
{this is the place where there is something behind... those blank stares...}

I am doing my best to negotiate that space
to ascertain the extent, dimensions, quantity, capacity, of

there are limitations to the accuracy of my depiction
given the tools at the ready

it is both the shape of the mountains and shape of the sky

[WOODEN RULER - performance / sculpture / photographic series]

2011