CELLO IN THE CHARRED CHAPEL

Sometimes you come across someone doing something that makes you sigh. 

German-Korean musician Isang Enders' rendition of Bach’s Cello Suite No. 1 within the sacred, charred interior of Peter Zumthor’s Bruder Klaus Field Chapel is one of those moments you can't help but wish was quietly, selfishly your own. 

It's been a long time since I list picked up a bow and drew it across the strings of my cello. Re-establishing my love for playing that deep, aching instrument has been on my list for quite a while now. But the things that make cellos so human - their size, weight, and equal parts fragility and strength, also make them cumbersome additions to the life of a 25-year old who rents her home and doesn't know where she may move to next.

So in the cello-less meantime, playing the piano in some of my most revered architectural spaces seems like a bucket list worth pursuing. The trick is just going to be getting myself, and the piano, there. 

After that, those encompassing forever moments will come easy.

ARCHITECT'S BROTHER

Robert ParkeHarrison's Architect's Brother. 

Just one of many stunning dreamscapes created in collaboration with his partner Shana. Over at Ethel-Baranoa she has beautifully paired the images with some text from Borges:
“Another, that while we sleep here, we are awake somewhere else, so that every man is in fact two men.” 

 More after the break. 

YOU DWELLER IN THE DARK CABIN

Thomas Demand, Clearing,

Hymn from a Watermelon Pavilion

You dweller in the dark cabin,
To whom the watermelon is always purple,
Whose garden is wind and moon,

Of the two dreams, night and day,

What lover, what dreamer, would choose   

The one obscured by sleep?

Here is the plantain by your door   

And the best cock of red feather   

That crew before the clocks.

A feme may come, leaf-green,   

Whose coming may give revel   

Beyond revelries of sleep,

Yes, and the blackbird spread its tail,   

So that the sun may speckle,   

While it creaks hail.

You dweller in the dark cabin,   

Rise, since rising will not waken,   

And hail, cry hail, cry hail.

-Wallace Stevens