Across the face of the moon is a a developing series of pictorial and text based works, based in a writing and digital drawing/painting/animation practice. This is the written component.
This text, consists of notes that are currently being developed.
"I look up to the moon, and I say inside myself “I used to be afraid of you”. Now I see your beauty up there. I feel your light carry my eyes across the stars. You’re directing me home. And I know that beauty exists, if not here then somewhere. I see a tinge of black across the curve of your brow. You’re not full tonight. I see you’re in profile, turned, looking like you’re talking to a neighbouring star. I hear you whispering. “These words have collapsed the distance between us.” I hear you calling. One soft karanga call landing on empty air. “From here, I watch the earth. Do you watch it too? Or do you have better worlds to gaze on with wonder?”. Maybe in a few million years I’ll be still here to hear that star answer back. Somewhere still standing with you, you still there above and roaring. Well above, at the apex of all things, seeing our flaming sun dim above a dying world. I hope the answer will be “yes, yes I do”."
Putting together notes on colour was writing a text that – for me – folded time. Parts were written a long time ago from 1999 to the time just before it was published in 2019. 20 years of scribbled and typed texts that lingered in my head. There was so much left out of this text, but there may be other texts.
"The camera can’t capture it, but eyes see panorama as well as the macro. Red, white and grey. Whiter, softer plumes of clouds look like they’re drifting from smokestacks. Colour can’t capture it all either, this street is sound. The sky as a chamber. With the ever-nearing urgency of a passing car, I hear your foot on the gas and your need to get home."
Across the face of the moon is a a developing series of pictorial and text based works, based in a writing and digital drawing/painting/animation practice.
"A high whine of air brakes – pick up/drop off. Step on board, with jarring, shifting plate’s tremorring beneath. Each shake resounds as a spectre of Napier’s 1931 earthquake. You know the driver from the night before. He knows you grew up in a city, built on the rubble of the new world, built on the bodies of the old world. Everyone’s worried that this city might fall again. We’ll either be destroyed or all remade – all the same in contemporary artifice. Some won’t be getting back up. Some won’t even be looking at what their looking at, long enough to even notice. After each jolt, we either fall back or get back into place. Do we sleep soundly, in each shift of flashing black segue-way? Try looking out the window. We’re moving just fast enough to see that the world is there, then the world is gone. The world is there and gone again."