This photo is from a series of images I made during my trip to China in 2018. This photo is a panoramic image taken on a highspeed train from Shenyang to Beijing. I love how the camera "brain" is trying to process the intensely moving image. I especially appreciate this processing relative to the slow-moving rain droplets across the window.
You are looking at the two property borders of the same house spliced together to appear as neighbors. The border spaces have taken center stage. They suggest the kind of neighbor this household would be to itself. The outer boundary has become the interior, an internalized identity.
I'm interested in midwest suburban lawns and property boundaries. There seems to be a standard language of visual connective tissues between properties. So standard are the conventions of this vocabulary that I can take images of almost any two properties (even at significantly different eye levels) and splice them together with very little disruption. I know that most of these lawns are cookie-cutter concepts, but I have recently become more aware of the non-verbal, territorial-marking languages that occur at the borders.
Gustav Fechner (1801-1887), physicist and early psychologist, set out to prove that plants have souls; he couldn't. I was reflecting on Fechner's idea, as of late, in relation to my new beekeeping hobby. I allowed myself to imagine, just for a little while, that bees were like sweet (pun intended) little vampires that fly around sucking the souls out of flowers. To me the above image is a poetic utterance, a glorious pool of regurgitated flower souls.