“I closed the front door of my house in Amsterdam behind me and walked 711 steps. As a child I used to count them. My steps, I mean. I took a certain amount and tried to reach the given goal within that number. Usually the goal was my house or a shop my mother send me to in order to get some things she forgot during her usual morning shopping. If I succeeded, the day would be mine. I dont remember any specific day I failed my mission. I dont remember any day I succeeded either. I just remember the ritual. This morning I had a goal, as in the old days. This was to be found at step 711. I crossed a couple of roads on my way, bumped into a woman walking her twin dogs, avoided some kids playing football, noticed a giant pigeon looking at me taking my 699th step and reached my goal. There it was. A grey tile on the sidewalk. Next to it another similar tile. Next to it a bike leaning against a streetlight. I looked around me. I knew this place. But I never knew it was a 496 meter walk from my front door. I took a picture and retraced my steps. The door was where I left it. I hadnt expected anything else.” A text I wrote 10 years ago for my first walking project, when I was appointed to be a bridge guard, mentally guarding the Mária Váleria bridge on the Slovak-Hungarian border. A 496 meter, 711 step long bridge. Today the text will be performed in a completely different setting. More here:
Posted on: Sun, 30 Nov 2014 11:48:53 +0000
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