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Bowsprite tattooed my back about two years ago, and I never felt a thing, didn’t even know about it til a few days later. See evidence in the eighth foto here. The tattoo she incised had the best feature: dynamism. Without washing or submitting myself to laser-burn or chemical-peel ink removal, that design–beautiful as it was– disappeared; pristine skin prevailed and could morph again.
Being a tabula rasa is the beauty of the sixth boro as it exists today. Not pristine as 500 years ago, it’s nevertheless mostly cleaner than it was 50 years ago. And unencumbered. The land right down to the sea’s threshold submits to the struggles and gainful laborings of planners and builders, but the water resists. Change is constant here, like light.
May the two above paragraphs exorcise the defensiveness I’m feeling these days. Repeatedly I feel restored by the surprises borne in and out upon the expanse of water I call the sixth boro. Like this, yesterday. I dismissed it at first as a replica.
One goal I had yesterday was to get a frontal shot of the figurehead on Eos, but not finding a conveyance, this is the best I could get of Anh Duong‘s work. Today these eyes behold . . . the cliffs of Hoboken; some months from now they may look upon the skyline of Moorea Bay.
Trawler Fluke . . here today . . . who knows where next month.
Ventura lives in North Cove and sails here outside the Narrows.
All fotos taken in the past weeks by Will Van Dorp.