An ant wishing for an aerial view, slowly covering ground the human eye moves across like the wind.

The first moment a symphony orchestra begins to play, the violins tuning up, the sky full of stars opens up above.

A film cutting away from the close intimate action to an aerial view  of a plan flying.

Inserting ourselves in the landscape. An odd thing to do given that we are here a priori.Points toughing, line drawn, outer and inner worlds, the earth covered, dark, stripped; pressed against the colours of the painting – plastered like a bandage. Peeling apart revealing interdependence.

The horizon line, drawn, where the lawn meets the edge of the trees. There is a flattening.

The lawn picks itself up and role backwards to the feet of the eyes. A gash  opens  below the trees, a green cloud hovering over solid rock.

From this cut in the fabric of the scene there could arise trombone music and violins. Bass too. Sound filling the air floats to match the structure thought hovering over the park  making it what it is. Forming it – bracketing it – framing. Music calls attention to times passage. Structured though hovers as if timeless though it too is in flux. Ideas in the head forming reality do not cinlude flux as part of the foreground.¹

1.  Stockholder, Jessica, Lynne Tillman, Germano Celant, and Barry Schwabsky. Jessica Stockholder. Second edition, revised and expanded. London: Phaidon Press Ltd., 2018.