Lift, impress. Heavy duty thoughts on a slate of reflection.

Things are getting a little warped. Heavy. Load bearing.

We forget how to speak. We hide in fences. We miss the poetry of it all.

Our flags, crisp in the wind, light like the air, light in the air, burn in the wind, flow like the sun, we are blinded.

A warm fire lights the dark.

An ode to closing lids and sleepy nights.

The last of Frank Gehry’s IAC shots. These play on sunlight and reflection, a glimmer of another world beyond.