When visiting a place, or person, invariably photos will be taken.
They capture that moment for us to look back at.
We rely on them to help us remember.
Proof of past lives.
But not a feeling.
They don’t show the whole event.
Unless you take a huge number of images.
And then force people to endure a slideshow of your event.
But no one, not even your mother, really wants to look at the next one.
My stacks take multiple images of the walk, thing, or person.
Layered between each other they adjust.
Objects seen from all sides.
People changing, even though they don’t travel.
Spaces connected by a walk from one place to another.
What you now see is not the thing I saw, but an awareness of it.
As you come closer, you might see something you think you recognize.
But is it that? You’ll look again. Does someone else see it?
Is that a hand?
A bicycle wheel?
Where is this really?
Is that someone’s face?
Should I ask if I am the only one seeing this?
Not seeing just one thing.
Looking at the unfamiliar.
Recommended reading:On Looking: A walker's guide to the art of observation. Alexandra Horowitz is a cognitive scientist who takes walks with people in different professions and explains not just what they see on the walk but how it is that they perceive those things.
Field Trips on the Rapid Transit. I heard Jack Anderson read from this collection of poems in the Brooklyn LIbrary next to Prospect Park (Olmstead's other NYC park). He had me laughing, so I had to buy his books. Which he signed. I read them to my kids. When they let me.