Harry Ghose Coveney
A space contains somewhere within itself a composite that attempts to capture the picture as whole. A plane, though vast and apparently unbounded, does the same.
I see a future for us with plenty of space, no community, the well isn’t depleted but we read ‘tier three’ commercials for local radio stations anyway (an activity that continues to provide us with joy for a good long while), we adopt a digital pet to stay alert to the times that continue to pass, I write copy for a nearby gazette and the room is covered in fabrics and cushions.
Papers say we met at the MET and your last work hangs above a bed, next to the continental masterpiece that we all revere. Last night we were recognised attendees.
I cook really good daal sometimes and this week you were obsessed with wasabi peas. I think you are even better today.
It’s happened already. No doubt the sun will be hot this summer.