Rose Arcade: Wash
Max Guy, Merideth Hillbrand, Martha Tuttle
April 13-14, 2017
at AZ WEST, Joshua Tree, California
An internal clock for the desert—foot-printed and unchanging, time stretches out.
Noisy, quail wander through the wash in pairs
Tortoise move a little ways, birds murmur, muscles loosen
In déjà vu, the mind searches and creases
A desynchronization of sensory signals creates an illusion of re-living
Reverberated seeing, a perceptual double take
What does it mean to believe that you’ve seen something before, in a place with no images?
On screens images act as barriers, mountains of digital dust to navigate, zig-zag.
Screenless—is it possible to see yourself here?
I’m thinking about the absurdity of sweeping the desert, of buzzing sand, of never ending backlit
Shimmery mirages outlining the impossibility of understanding. Eyes becoming false horizons, while
shadows in the wash provide the only place to rest.
Here there are no buildings, no clocks, no monuments. Instead our eyes focus on
the overwhelming abundance of limited materials—their texture, their interaction with light, their relationship to the sky. It makes me wonder about the tactility of being.
How, in exercising all of our senses, we become
embedded in the world, but we often limit ourselves to sight.
In the morning
Obedient knees kneel on shoulders fruiting
Tiny flowers reach
Touching slow honey blood
