It’s not easy imagining a bench to delight someone. People tend to sit on just about anything, even newspapers. Restlessly, I pace around my studio at Andrejsala, here and there, waiting for an idea to arrive. It’s late. It’s not coming. The radio’s playing Imants Ziedonis’ quotes and poems. I sit down, stared at the Daugava and listen:
“And all life is green juice which dissolves alongside the sides of ships! And propellers smell of peppermint.”
or
And when I look westward, someone puts their hand on my shoulder: “In this life, we have enough of everything; all we lack is time.”
And is this not about Andrejsala? We have all we need here except somewhere to sit down and watch the sunset. So here we are, sitting on propellers covered with newspapers.
I’d already planned, during my work breaks, to go to the Daugava embankment with my seat. Small-sized. Thumb-sized. But now I can think about something bigger…
Notes. 1 December
Surfaces on which to sit, similar to those in stadiums, has been arranged in a semi-circle upwards at Andrejsala longside the shore of the Daugava. The surface can be closed and opened. It is shiny like a mirror; on it there is one letter. Together the letters form a text…
