We live in a bit of a nook of our neighborhood, a side street that gets little traffic aside from people walking their dogs. The two-flat next to us has a large and nearly window-less brick wall. I project three words onto the wall, and in some sort of magic way the brick building becomes a character in the world. The projection is up for a few hours and whoever sees it, sees it – one phrase per evening, a few evenings a week. The words are open, sometimes playful and funny, sometimes heartbreaking.
Three words is enough for the writer to say something specific while giving room for the reader to interpret the words. They aren't poems, but they are poetic.
We live in a bit of a nook of our neighborhood, a side street that gets little traffic aside from people walking their dogs. The two-flat next to us has a large and nearly window-less brick wall. I project three words onto the wall, and in some sort of magic way the brick building becomes a character in the world.
The projection is up for a few hours and whoever sees it, sees it – one phrase per evening, a few evenings a week. The words are open, sometimes playful and funny, sometimes heartbreaking.
Three words is enough for the writer to say something specific while giving room for the reader to interpret the words. They aren't poems, but they are poetic.
