Time Flies in This Pending Space

Time Flies in This Pending Space Echoes from the new opera: the sound of the plays and claps from the crowd still resonating behind the bay windows, present in their absence. The missing ladder leading to the roof-top, from which twelve skyscrapers regulate the orange light onto the city, now replaced by a sign reading ‘Betreten der Dachfläche verboten’, black on white. Sofa skeletons, broken bottles, cracks in the walls, dried plants and moss in every corner. Red-striped sunshades flapping in the wind, torn under the weight of those puddles of water collected from the rain, pressing on and dripping through the material. An ecology of ants and nails, aphids and cigarette butts, beer capsules and caterpillars gathering in dust heaps and resting in flowerpots. Spray paint mixing with the shadow of the baluster, plastic ornaments of sparkling water melting in the sun, boiling surfaces. Re-dried wet carboard, rotten rugs. The silence of a giant vacuum on the roof of the building opposite, revealing its incessant noise when finally turning off, at 9 o’clock sharp.