versió en català
I am trying to make sense of the textures of daily life. The stones that now are only evident on the city walls and a few isolated houses. These were once the stones that were also the exterior of the houses, the stones that, in their infinite irregularity, must have caught the eyes of the medieval residents of Arles-sur-Tech on their daily walks around the town.
Do I notice the stones more because I live in a house of wood in the Northeast of America? When I had a patio built in my back yard, the landscapers wanted to put in blue stone. I resisted - I wanted colorful stone, red, black and blue. I wanted contrast, rhythm, from color - but here it is, in the form.
Now I spend my days in a land of blue stone. A color that would be nothing, without the forms. The shapes. The jagged irregularities that invite the eye to trace the counters of each stone.