Traces
Have you ever sat at a bus stop in the rain ? The light fading, the intoxicating mix of fast food and carbon monoxide creating just enough of a heady mix in your mind, the slowly setting sun a catalyst to your creating – no – reliving the moments leading up to that sad, dripping but elegant leatherette glove being discarded. Who was she ? Is she cold ? Will she miss it ? How many times have you stepped around a broken wine bottle, it’s contents congealing like the life blood of the shattered relationship it may represent ? These objects lay in plain view, sometimes hanging in the most unlikely of places. If you’re lucky, you may stumble across a perfect collage, shimmering and flapping in the wind where it has gathered of it’s own accord against a chicken wire fence. It gets colder, the wind whips around your ears and so you reach in your pocket … but wait, where’s that other glove ?
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