Daniel Sean Kelly
Sam Francis Read
You see a fort. It is large and imposing, impressively constructed, looming over you. The fort looks like it was made from materials gleaned from the surrounding area and art exhibitions that happened in the past. The fort was made from materials gleaned from the surrounding area and art exhibitions that happened in the past. It looks like art exhibitions made in the past. The fort looks like it was constructed in a hurry. The fort was constructed in a hurry. Sorry x
There is evidence of human occupation, artists were here. Seven artists from a town somewhere else – the fort is in this town now. This town is two towns with two forts, this one and that one. It is an embassy for the town somewhere else. Perhaps the making of the fort was a gift to this space, a chance to exorcise demons and flush out the system, a shared ritual. Everyone has a part to play, the gallery looks like an institution, at least from the outside.
Who can enter the fort?
Fearing for your life but desperate for shelter you venture inside.
The people who formed this civilization were capable of producing sophisticated objects to decorate their environment. They clearly had impeccable taste. What did the people looks like who were here? Did they wear clothes? What kind of clothes? What clothes do humans wear? What are clothes? What are clothes made of? Clothes? If you get cold you could wear a scarf, maybe some armour would be a good idea, what if the people who live here come back to reclaim the fort, would you defend yourself?
The embers of a fire flicker in the hearth and you huddle by its warmth to drink a healing potion.
Who made this Fire?
Who made the first Fire©?
Who owns Fire®?
As you stare into the flickering tongues of the furnace your retinas become wavey, you close your eyes and calculate your next step…
Maybe you will lie down to rest, maybe you will wish that someone was lying beside you, you picture that person, imagine their warmth, their skin. Maybe animals come here as well as humans, cats who come begging for scraps, to pick over the bones and garbage of a once great city – their bellies full they will wallow on their backs and paw at trinkets, lounging listlessly, maybe ordaining to view you from under heavy eyelids, purring sleepily. There are no cats here.
If only you had something to read. Words come back to you through the mists of faded memory, “All that a person needs is a good house and a good book” – who said that? Reading could give you some ideas, maybe through ideas you would enact change, build a new civilization. What would that look like? In this future who will you choose to be?
You should probably try being somebody else.