Friday, October 3, 2008

To the In-land

Ingmar Bergman, The Seventh Seal

And then, inland from the lake, are the vast plains. Built from gravel, they're like a stony sponge. The water held within in them, artesian. Overlaid with an enormous grid, Cartesian. Ordered. Plain, indeed. Visitors, from Overseasia, marvel at the plains. They are like a garden! they exclaim. Look at the hedges.

But the hedges are sinister. Dark, macrocarpa. A peculiar plant, blessed with a toxic halo effect, such that everything around it always seems to die, or at least to never grow. Driving across the plains, the macrocarpa hedges ebb and flow, dancing in parallax, creating spaces, rooms. Theatrical. Absurd. And on, still fleeing the haunted beach, the smoke still ascending from the pyre, an arabesque into the air, the curlicue as question mark, hanging above the distant sea.

Michael Kenna, Avenue of the Three Fountains, Versailles, France 1996

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