hummbuzz

Nothing is forever; everything is now. It’s the 21st of December, just before Christmas. The demolition has been ongoing since last spring, and I suspect there can’t be much left of the site now—not as it once was, a part of Stockholm’s pantry. A sense of nostalgia lingers when I think of all the hours—no, all the years—I’ve spent returning occasionally to take photos and work on small, individual projects. That opportunity is now nearing its definitive end. But I also feel excited. I long to return; I want to see what the site looks like when everything is gone. I want to dig a little deeper among the rubble, wreckage, and memories. Just a little more. Peep-holeIt has snowed all night, and I think it will make the perfect conclusion to this project. I’ve taken a two-week break from photography itself, focusing more on developing and processing the material I’ve already collected. Many hours spent in front of the computer—a kind of digital conversation with myself to find the right

Tenderness went searching for her roots. She looked in the tunnels under New York City and met the mole people living there, who were strange and not as scary as one might think but not exactly not scary, but she did not find her roots there. She looked in the sky, which seemed like a clever thing to do, and on a cloudless, sunny day said to herself, "Yes, my roots are blue", but the next day was overcast, were her roots gray? Can roots be one thing one day and another the next? She could not say. She went to the house of a friend who was a musician and sat down at the friend's piano and tried to play her roots, but her fingers did not know what to do. She hit the piano with both fists and that sounded something like roots she thought, but then again, maybe not. She went to the house of another friend and while they were having tea asked her, "Do you know where my roots are?" And the friend said, "Of course I do. They are hidden within your fruit." Tenderness said, "Yes? I guess?"