They say home is where the heart is. It is a place I have never been able to forget, nor find my way back to. I have always thought of it as a series of islands. It is such an immense, densely populated city. I knew the neighborhoods I lived or worked in, the bars and restaurants that became my extended living spaces. But, that vast in-between traveled through to get from one to the other remained a mystery. Oddly enough, it is these intervals between destinations, or non-places, that called to me. That still call to me.
These fragments of memories are quotes out of context, a storyboard that has had the main plot removed. Frozen between ‘before’ and ‘after’, between a house that was not a home and a decision I did not want to make, this is a conversation that never happened. Something I left unfinished. They are as Isaac Stern described music, “that little bit between each note-silences which give form”. Adrift.