The Real

The Real

I am in the inner city, at a junction of different modes of transportation. Each mode is set in potential danger to the other. I have come to a stop: an empty time waiting for the green light to allow me to continue wandering. There are a lot of other times in the image, the time of the train coming, the time of a possible car crossing the intersection, the time of the traffic or the surveillance cameras. I turn my attention to the run-down corner unit that faces on the other side of the road. The number is 1600. I imagine it to have had, perhaps, a more glorious past. It now seems to be fading.

Various times of efficiency and regulations are set in juxtaposition. The wanderer is a detractor of these times. I pass through this space of surveillance clocking times as invisible. I am invisible.


The encounter with the image initiates movement – through the activity of walking – and at the same time it suggests a halt; the traffic lights have stopped the initial movement I mentally perform in the viewing of the work. Such mechanised temporality has nothing to do with chronological time. There is no destiny, only the repetition of a rupture. I know the lights will turn green allowing me to cross the road. I know the lights will turn red again. It is the rhythmic pattern of the machine controlling my movements. Here I am thrown into a time that is “out of joint,” a pause, an undetermined gap.


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