Three hours before low tide…
Three hours before high tide.
This last year could easily have been a slog. A long haul of walking lonely as a cloud. Instead it was a ‘simultaneity of stories-so-far’. A year of walking with friends and family, strangers, colleagues, artists and collaborators. Old-friends at a distance when we could not walk together; people I’ve never met, but who feel like friends; new friends in London, whose presence in my life has made this foreign island feel like home; artists, by following their wander scores, even if they don’t know it. So to all of you who have walked with me, written the scores I’ve followed, edited, published or distributed the book that made it all possible, thank you. I walk in your footsteps as we build a network of walkers together.
Walk 51. A Certain History by Linda Rae Dornan. Counting the periphery of The Racecourse for my first walk in #Northampton. 8:32 – 8:35am: 13 gardens, 5 shrubs, 2 visible ornaments. 8:35am: approx. 238 trees 0 visible insects. 8:56am: a pavement that was 4X298. 9:13am: Left foot by leaves, right foot by twigs. 9:24am: passed by a 5’5” female and a 3’2” female. The taller female smiled and said hello. The shorter female frowned. 9:29am: 5’9” male. No hello but a look and a glare. #newtown #newflat #northampton #walkingart #awanderisnotaslog #racecourse #park #counting #brouwnsteps #trees #sport
Unpacking in the surprising prairie wind and staying for a hundred years. Enthralled by phasmagoria and the detritus of history. The years slowly crumble through lack of maintenance. A colonial past that still haunts; its uses change and decline. Every moment captured for Insta posterity. Is the market management meeting still in progress? Corporate beancounters the only breaks in the façade.*
Cheap yellow balls. Or were they lime green? Dropping, bouncing, stopping. Rolling across varied surfaces in multiple cities. Helpful people unwittingly disrupting artistic documentation, but making up for it through increasingly meaningful encounters. For some the tennis ball facilitated a strange availability. For others, a continued exploration of a studied area. For me, a continued goodbye… bouncing a ball on paths that would soon be in my past.