taking care of the place
Uruk
In the museum today we followed the script, that is, the writing. Ancient forms of writing carved in stone, and some felled onto papyrus that was torn out of its location later and jammed into ‘found’ metal boxes. What is it about inhumanity that allows one to covet a culture’s gorgeously wrought temple at the same time as dehumanising them enough to justify tearing down the temple, or carving a chunk off it, and then rebuilding in a far colder climate in your own museum? We found this headstone densely scribbled which I so longed to touch. Only that I wouldn’t have put my fingers’ oils all over the ancient, four thousand year old stone. But if I had this in my house (I told my companion) I would rub my face over it every day: like this.
You might also like to read:
It's snowing! It's snowing! It's snowing! I came into a cafe going, It's snowing, and she said, I know, and I said, But - it's snowing! and then hours later walked out into the dark ...read more
On my last day in Berlin I visited at last the Museuminsel, Island of Museums. It feels strange to ride an arched bridge onto an island on your bike. The island being castled with stately ...read more
On the underground train above ground the whole carriage overheard two rather stoned young dudes speaking about Art, that is, themselves. As we unzipped the treetops people glanced at them, glanced away, smiled. One dude ...read more