Sunday, January 31, 2010
(Source)
Saturday, January 16, 2010
I just read the following regarding the above piece

Despite their own large scale, [Richard] Serra’s public installations sometimes ‘disappear’ in a similar fashion — viewers pass by works like the 55-foot tall Fulcrum at London’s Liverpool Station with less conscious recognition of the works’ sheer massiveness than one would expect. (from here)

and it dawned on me that I have indeed passed by that piece - dozens of times - and never really stopped to investigate it. That particular corner of the City has always been a thoroughfare for me on the way to Monument or St. Dunstan’s and thusly to the relative expanse of the river. By contrast, that little sunken square, strangled as it is by a selection of the least interesting architecture in the area never seemed particularly inviting. Since I’ll be there at my leisure shortly, Fulcrum and I shall have to be properly introduced.

I just read the following regarding the above piece

Despite their own large scale, [Richard] Serra’s public installations sometimes ‘disappear’ in a similar fashion — viewers pass by works like the 55-foot tall Fulcrum at London’s Liverpool Station with less conscious recognition of the works’ sheer massiveness than one would expect. (from here)

and it dawned on me that I haveĀ indeed passed by that piece - dozens of times - and never really stopped to investigate it. That particular corner of the City has always been a thoroughfare for me on the way to Monument or St. Dunstan’s and thusly to the relative expanse of the river. By contrast, that little sunken square, strangled as it is by a selection of the least interesting architecture in the area never seemed particularly inviting. Since I’ll be there at my leisure shortly, Fulcrum and I shall have to be properly introduced.

Thursday, January 14, 2010
New York was a labyrinth of endless steps, and no matter how far he walked, it always left him with the feeling of being lost. Each time he took a walk, he felt he was leaving himself behind. All places become equal, and on his best walks, he was able to feel that he was nowhere. This was all he ever asked of things: to be nowhere. Paul Auster (City of Glass)