1
I seek a permanent home, but this structure has an appearance of indifferent compoundedness and isolation, heading toward hopelessness.
The boy pulls an animal on a leash.
The house with a red roof rests between two hills.
I can look through its windows to the sea.
His aggression opposes what in a domestic animal, cold open space, large enough to work with isolation?
House is the projection, space around it intermediary, theater.
You don’ t have to consume the space to exist, distance, point-to-point, in which a beloved ruin is middle ground, for example.
2
First house and space negate one another.
Then, they’ re a series.
The boy watches a mouse run around the rim of a lampshade.
He relates wanting to catch a mouse with the room, ground.
Wanting a master image obscures ground, like objects in space.
House and space are composite, like my dream, a bubble, lightning, starting point and any second place.
3
Rain pours out a gutter onto the poor horse.
Horse runs under a tin roof supported by poles.
Stockpiles of beams, salvaged wood, brick melt into contextless waste.
I understand the situation by perceiving parts, one after another, then reversing in a glance that removes time.
So, I can intuit contextless waste as ground.
4
The water tank sits on a frame of used wood, like a packing crate.
I look through it to an extinct volcano.
The panorama is true figuratively as space, and literally in a glass wall, where clouds appear like flowers, and the back-lit silhouette of a horse passes by.
A file of evergreens secures the cliff amid debris from a crew bilding, as at the edge of the sea.
Oranges, dumplings, boiled eggs take on the opaque energy of a stranger.
Knowledge as lintel, bond beam (model signs) holds the world at a distance.
A master image like bone condenses from the indistinct point-to-point feeling of self with which construction began.
My house returns from outside, as if my spirit had been blocking my path, when I wasn’ t going anywhere in particular.
5
Materials and freedom combine, so materials aren’ t subjective.
The material of space is like having a skeleton to gain a vantage point on seamless distance, as in a comparison.
It’ s a style of accumulating materials that does not become a solid thing, anymore.
Accommodating a view by being able to be seen through is perceptual, not abstract, like space painted white.
Give a house the form of an event.
Relate it to something there, a form of compassion.
Your point of view is: it’ s solid already, so there’ s warmth.
In this primitive situation, pure form translates a former empire of space as wilderness.
Chinese space breaks free from the view in front of me, while my house continues to rotate on earth.