I remember my artist friends – we would have 4th of July with them – but it was called Louis Armstrong Day.
She lived in her parent’s house and was making art from the hundreds of love letters she found in the house. Everything burned to ashes. They got out with their lives only, Sheila and Patrick. They retreated for years to a trailer on a lot of land outside of Santa Fe. I was very sad they were lost, but not really good enough friends to keep in touch. One day about 5 years ago, I’m sure I saw Sheila walking up a steep street near my house. I even went around the block but was too spooked to pull over. What was I to do – jump out of the car?
Every story is a travel story – a spatial practice. For this reason, spatial practices concern everyday tactics.
‐‐Michel de Certeau, ‘Spatial Stories’, The Practice of Everyday Life.