Seeing new things in old places, during time spent in complete rapture of a place and all its glory. Wonderment arises from understanding the rules, which are complex. The natural rules run water down, gravity fed lake ripples in the wind while birds are in perpetuum motion. They flit, and travel over boundaries set for humans. Other animals may not be so fortunate, as the lake is developed all around with lofty woodsy homes and a shopping mecca a leisurely boat ride away. It rained the whole time. Water burbled down storm drains, trickled across pathways, sunk between pavers, and traversed the road, stopping only to puddle. There was a crawfish, red, in the rain. There were trAintracks, but no train. There was red dirt, like clay, and no way to get to the lake for me. A private lake, a public path. The path is like a work of art - expensive. It was donated to the public by a wealthy, influential couple who loved Lake Oswego. Imagine- the pavilion in surrounded and saturated with works of public art - commission by the city to make people feel at home. Many of the citizens in LO probably have large art collections in their own homes. There seems to be no culture there, it has been coopted. This lake, that used to be a duck pond, is a simulation, a projection of what people want, because its the best of whats around. Curated to the point of homogeny, However, it is curious to me; there are forlorn figures, like a story about partial history being a stand-in for many. The privileged narrative is there, but obviously there are missing histories. The arms of almost all figures are missing; who built this place? Who were the original workers? Why is a figure of Icarus explained as a symbol of courage?
Connections between control over bodies and control over the land. Partial bodies, sculpted, land a part of what it used to be, not functional in the same ways it was naturally.
What i liked: the willow trees, the wild rose bushes, the sound of light rain, having the whole place to myself.