пятница, января 18, 2008
From the Confessions of Seth Unmack
Skylines. I've been photographing skylines lately, mostly spikes and
crosses, or else clusters of buildings which look like they've been
constructed on top of one another, layer after layer over the decades.
It's my way of convincing myself I'm doing something productive.
Funny thing, productivity. The only time I've done more writing than I
am now was when I was in St. Petersburg, where I wrote to keep myself
sane through six weeks of midnight. Somehow my current productivity
doesn't feel enough. Hell, I know it never feels enough. One way or
another, life has a way of throwing up all manner of tempting
distractions in my face. Like skylines. Much easier to wander the
backstreets of Moscow drinking beer and looking for spikes and crosses
than write a fucking thesis.
Let us speak of corners: this place has a dizzying array. I'm coming
to realise just how dangerous corners are: when the streets are
straight, you can see what lies ahead and decide whether you want to
proceed or not; when the streets are all dips and curves, the terrible
desire to know what might lie beyond is irresistable. I've found out
what lies beyond the dips and curves: more dips and curves, spikes and
I thought I'd made a large mistake. Why did I decide to stay here for
eleven months, when I could have completed everything I needed to in
six? I like this place and these people. On the weekend, I sat among a
pack of stray dogs in a park, and shared yarns of cruelty and dead
ancestors. Later I drank a margarita, inspected the testicles of
Zhukov's horse, then sat in a bar drinking martinis, smoking
cigarettes, and wondering how to get home, and if I even wanted to.
Distractions. For all the dips and curves, skylines, spikes and
crosses, my mind is consumed by dreams of goats and tomatoes, pixies,
red earth and crocodiles. It's my way of keeping myself sane amid this
crumbling and chaotic wreck of a city.