A word about this place. The passageways are cramped and narrow and move outward, in 90 and 45 degree angles, between grey buildings with rough, concrete exteriors. There are lines strung between the buildings (presumably for drying clothes, or for hanging decorations), but the windows from which they emerge do not seem to conceal any activity. The area should be densely populated, but the only sound is the occasional sound of the woman’s footsteps as she oscillates between forms that are seemingly capable of making footsteps and those that are not.
We arrive at a small opening, a courtyard of sorts, where six paths, from six equidistant entries converge. There is a small fountain filled with water lilies in the middle. The fountain has six streams of water moving inward to converge on the centre. An oval-shaped mouth serves as the source of water for each fountain. The mouths move as the water passes through them.
Beyond the courtyard is a narrow room lit by pinpricks of light, tiny angels leaking through the firmament. The path elongates into a promontory as the surrounding earth falls away. Beneath me is what feels like empty space, but must be water, or oil. The light spots narrow on its surface, fold into themselves, reappear, and all dimension vanishes.
(From an on-again off-again collaboration with writer Toyah Webb)