Impaled, rocks seep into ground bases. Water wavers over chiselled rock, knock and drifting, knocking and drifting like a knock down ginger escapade. Marks of inhabitation, in the unusually inhabited. Taking form into made made, interior, structures.
They all feedback to process, stating our ways of living, through traffic regulations, what the view of a driver may see looking up to the electricity stretching yard for yard. Everything so sharp but disjointed, altered, self dictated and under the powers we possess. Our crippling control over the objects we make, as their lives are forever dictated by our needs, never regarding their own needs.
Nature structures complete whatseems a vague puzzle, one that makes sense the more we see it, the connections that become real, that tie us to a bizarre state of affairs. Their structures mirror the use we have in our own objects as natures plan is much more effective than our attempts to replicate it in the city environment. This point, I seem to recall a thought I had previously about another series, and the notion of our control over objects and our flawed attempts to contain nature is something we all witness everyday, very few face it. It remains invisible, ceasing to exist for it never crosses our path.
If we take a step and back to consider that the world is not made up of concrete, houses and structure - these are man made ideas solving problems for our inconveniences in the wild. The world is, underneath it all, wild and can never be fully contained as roads may overflow with foliage, tufts of weeds poking out of curb ends. It forever builds a comfortable mattress for our living needs, city streets and possession storage always providing a fall back. A fall back suggesting a lifestyle we once had before we developed as a species.