Video:
Origami was made: Architect described what she saw of the figure and recorded the audio, then I danced to the audio as instructions informing my actions. Lines were traced to make the origami, perceived in the paper, spoken lines of text, heard lines of voce, traced lines back to the body.
(Ingold 2007, 93). A single trace of handwriting has more movement than a whole page of printed text.
Towel
The wind blows my towel and the square marking my space in the park is now altered. I feel I have less space and need to fix it.
I view this as a moment when I am with the wind, the towel, my emotions, the situation. I am aware of the boundary the towel makes and the changing of the border, a changing in the shape of the line makes me feel I have less space, when in fact no space around me has actually changed.
One person dances and others trace what they saw. The dancer also traces. The image above is from the dancer and the other drawings are from the viewers.
Where are there similiarties between felt and seen?
By the canal
I sit on the park bench facing the canal, the water flows from my right to my left. The sun arcs to my right but covered by clouds. I estimate its location. Trees and bushes grow vertically in front of me blocking the view of the water. Between branches I see the light reflect off the surface, enough to know the direction the water is moving. A pedestrian path is between me on the bench and the canal. An iron rail runs between the trees and the path. People go by on bikes in four seconds passing me to the right, a few seconds longer passing to the left because of a slight incline. Walkers in both directions pass me in twenty seconds. Feet and wheels leave lines in the grey dirt. The wooden bench below me is typical; long slats with gaps between. I pause, noticing, my eyes scan for something new. Nine to eleven sparrows fly by from one periphery to another, on the y axis height where peoples’ heads would have been. The linear dynamics their flight make as a group are different than the pulsing of the water, the bouncing of the people, the gliding of the bikes, the secure immobility of the iron rail. They're three-dimensional compared to the flatness of the grey path and are perpendicular to the branches of the trees.
An arms length away, on the ground to my left is a cement curb. Its angled obtusely, narrowing as it extends to the space behind me, to the back of the bench; a blind spot. This angle implies a space that is surprise-less. The angle suggest space is in front and nothing is behind me. In this cradled cement inlet for the bench, I feel held and calm. The indiscreet angle of this curb causes the impression of safety I feel.
