something holding back the pouring, a turn of the kaleidoscope, a turn again, radiant, beautiful, meaningless so it is easier to choose stones from the ground, a sack of words, pieces of language from something larger, and if a single event caused this ruin, what was that event?
Silence is the creation of space, a space that memory needs to use . . . an incubator. We’re dealing here with dimensions, stretching inner muscles, pushing aside any interference. We’re dealing with numbers, but not counting. Silence demands the nature of night, even in full day, it demands shadows.
∆ Etel Adnan, from Shifting the Silence
The exercise of this childhood faculty to make a map by simply experiencing the space of an area made Tokyo, where I lived from 1964 to 1967, fascinating to me. There were few street signs, and these I ignored in order to enjoy learning how it all pieced together; in the beginning, I rode in taxis looking out the back window so I could identify my return route. Once routes were established, they formed sections, and these sections finally connected. I devised a web for myself of intertwining, crooked, and elusive roads in which I could live. Yet I never came to feel at home in Japan, hard as I tried. I simply felt incorrectly placed. The air seemed to lack oxygen; the latitude and longitude were incompatible; I felt myself to be in the wrong place on the earth.
∆ Anne Truitt, July 16th, 1974 entry, Daybook