An ambling sojourn through Suncity Strange is swollen with decay. Buildings with exposed bones of brick and metal crumbling and brittle, tombstones dusted with lichen, names and dates washed and worn by weather, old bridges rusting and groaning in a slow tumble toward the river.
A chair abandoned ages ago, sleepily sunbathing in an overgrown garden — barely strength to hold its own moss-covered cushion at rest. Urban meadows, hazy and ephemeral — cracks in the parking lot widened by the whim of wildflowers to house the shell of moths and mantis on dew-covered solidago.
A final meditative wind scatters wings and prayers beyond reach. The surrounding forest offers up feathers, flesh, and bone laid bare beside muddy paw prints, blood-soaked leaves; the hungry scrawl of tooth and claw etching deep lines of persistence in the urgency of desire.
Eyes dilate — wide black mirrors to take it all in; face-to-face with each piece of peace.
Observed decay peels through layers of perception. Gaze into a mirror and the most obvious layer is the skin. The surface of decay offers a physical exploration of blurred and dissolving boundaries. The eye lands in a whispered caress across intricate patterns, textures, and colors of erosion. Each gentle sigh over the surface begs for a frame, entices the hand to move in an ancient dance along the page to capture an intermediate moment.
Beneath this initial attraction, an electric silence hums hints of the passage of time. Stories echo in the patterns, linger in texture, drip from color. These speak of a life lived, song and energy gathered until a point of crescendo—the last amorous grasp of a love letter before a signature, slow and persistent, withers. Here in the afterglow, the potential silence hovers slick and thick. “How did we get here?” echoes through the mind and calls to the imagination.
When an object outlives its assigned purpose, the veil of functionality is lifted and the “bare bones” of existence are exposed. There is an immediate contrast of imagined purpose or memory with its present state of decay, opening the mystery of a transformative journey awaiting discovery in each romantic pass over the layers and patterns of its slow fade. “How did we get here?” Elements? Plants? Harsh or soft? Is the strength or quality of the object evident in the way it holds itself together or how it falls apart? A mixture of factual / supposed history with kindred experience of the way life leaves little marks here and there.
“You remember, I remember,” a wide-eyed, wet-lipped utterance—the oath to the object of our observation. You were here, you remain; I see you, I feel you. With empathy, the mirror of decay becomes a bridge connecting the heart of lived experience with what lies beyond.
To witness the flow of energy released as an object is swallowed by its surroundings is to move into the chaos of the unknown, where energy exists as potential futures. In this tease of limitless space, mystery pulls the senses toward a portal, pushing the curious toward a journey at the edge of the veil. On this path, the alchemy of creation aches for release.
The tangled embrace of decay echoes the essence of creation. Matter collides and life begins, drawing breath, energy, and attention until it is overcome and falls to pieces. It travels beyond function to be devoured and redistributed by the mycelial network of culture—to be discovered, caressed, echoed, rippled, and finally, to become.
~Dead crow close, living crow far—I study each. Still beautiful. Still and beautiful, still.~
