This is a vision test.
This is a vision quest.
A hole is a cave that fell down, and you are still on the ground in a hole. Sometimes something sinister, but not, crawls across my floor.
And sometimes when I drive through the Lincoln Tunnel, I feel like I might head under forever, even as the toll glints up. I think these slipping gears are universal. I love them, and I want you to relax.
I believe that the pedestrian can be enigmatic. Like, don’t let me tie your shoes unless you plan on wearing them forever.
Let’s try, for a moment, to become attuned to the amount of travel we undertake between our ears. So...close your eyes for a sec and go somewhere far, and then come back and read on.
It is the silent(er) refrain to the social contract - We are Here, We are Here. Here means This, There means That. Note: we make the surveying stake a value-added object - otherwise it’s just a stick jammed into the ground. As I type this I know that the foundation of the man’s castle are always words, herded into the bag and smashed with the cane. Pity the man and his bag of shadows!
I pretend with eyes open, and my favorite push into the unknown is: I can feel the Earth hurtling around the sun, like a distant nausea I’m on the verge of tasting. And this foray into the impossible is hot and fresh and timeless - it retains clarity, emblazoned on nothing. My memories, in contrast, are like yours - a heavily redacted playlist that mutates with each casual reference to the fleeing past. But daydreams left to bleed over will happily stain your reality if you let them. So let them.
James Foster (b. 1977) lives and works in Brooklyn, New York. He received his MFA in Sculpture from the Rhode Island School of Design and his BA from Vassar College. His work was recently included in the three-person exhibition “Mtn” at Black Ball Projects.