Field Notes - The Architecture of the Lane
I went on a late afternoon walk to break the friction of restlessness and fatigue. My eyes eye registered the geometry of a landscape caught between what was and what is left behind. My feet walked different terrains.
My path moves through the narrow remains of old rural lanes. Modern poorly kept pavements, cutting between detached and semi-detached houses. Many sit abandoned, their gardens turning wild, while others are still fiercely maintained. The shapes cut clean lines against the sky, some round and fluid, others perfectly rectangular or quadrangular. They wear the skins of past decades: beautiful Portuguese tiles, or fading coats of mustard paint.
There is a deep layering of class and history here. I pass an ilha - the late 19th-century-early 20th worker housing built for the mills and factories that used to exist here - its shared yard loud with the sound of several roosters. Further up, a mid-20th-century building has been repainted in modern dark grey. On its first-floor veranda, packed with flower pots, a cluster of black and yellow porcelain andorinhas are fixed to the wall, frozen in flight.
Then, the urban fabric breaks. I find myself in a clareira. A sudden clearing bordered by thick vegetation and trees. At my feet lies a heavy tapestry of fallen apples, dropped from the branches of two gigantic apple trees.
On my way back, a mere chance. Stopping to drink water from my bottle, I look up at a closed restaurant window. On display inside is an announcement for a photography exhibition, a secret only viewable if you return during the specific rhythm of their lunch or dinner hours.
Since I didn't took my phone out no photographs were taken. Above it all, my companion for the journey. The waxing white Moon seated quietly in a completely clear blue sky.
[paiting: Olga Dashkevich - Old Apple Tree, 2023]
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