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dreoferkie
Inherent to the human condition is the fascination with the periphery. The places where fiction meets fact, admiration meets love, ideas meet actions and shadow meets form. Maybe there we are most comfortable, where the wallpaper is grey and nothing is absolute, where the wavering thin line leads both ways.
Hidden in the shadows, those harbingers of form, is the crucible of all art. Ideas are born there, passions and beliefs, desires and needs. The bird might fly suddenly south, parting abruptly from its shadow, the people might walk north, leaving wispy remains of what might have been. Yes, on the periphery, near the edge, where “what almost is” lives, “what almost was” lives, too.
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