GALLERIES: THE SEASON NOTHING HAPPENS
A SEASONAL EXODUS
I’m not used to the cold. I don’t think anyone can ever really get used to that kind of cold. It permeated everything and ceased to be solely about temperature. Even sound seemed to function differently. I couldn’t hear a thing walking amongst the broken-down structures robbed of their form by impossible layers of ice that seems to have deformed them. Trying to distinguish where a home started and ended proved difficult. The stick-like wooden frames disappeared into ice and snow. Out the corner of my eye I noticed something tiny sticking out of the ground so I walked closer to settle my curiosity. A toy Matchbox car sticking out of pure ice surrounded nothing that would give it a sense of context. “What happened here? Why did these people leave? Where did they go?” I asked myself. A couple of days later, having spoken with local residents about my icy archeological dig, I discovered the secret: Nothing. Happened. Here.
And nothing again would until the sun having last set 2 months ago would once again rise.