Project 1: Ice Watch Paris
Lassoed, scarred—calving. The outer frame, space it invents
unfurling orbicular margins. Unrelenting. Birdcage elevators. Dreamed up. Eighty-eight tons icebergs harnessed from Nuup Kangerlua fjord in Greenland; glacier obelisks left to melt on Place du Panthéon: put your hand to it. Hear the sound. Rive Gauche.
Everyday life frescoes. Unfinished cast iron stairways.
Quartier Latin mausoleum, hills of the Montagne Sainte-Geneviève, 5ème arrondissement: “Come,” they said. Decorate the chaste. Distorting. Dressed like a pauper. Toiling away in your atelier. Concealing nakedness. You have lost the key. Nearly blind. You mourn. You ought to. Your oeuvre.