im in love with this idea of floor time. when i have a bit of spare time, i love to spread out all over the floor, spilling my body, thoughts and craft over the hardwood, the area rug, the fur blanket. i crawl and stretch around, like some sort of low hanging spider, assembling collage pieces or whipping my sketchbook with watercolors or doodling my little sheep story along.
i forget how energizing elongating your limbs can be. i listen to music, letting it in one end of the stretch and out, longer, on the other. it begins to take on the form of dance, sometimes, the way it rises and falls with the sounds. how could it not? where does that boundary lie?
in all motion i stay close to the floor, using it as my only axis. the floor feels safe, grounded. it reaches the boundaries of the home, fills in the way water fills in a container. it’s stable, subtle; it is the only consistent structure throughout. skyscrapers of cabinets and towers of shelves break the floor up into different seas, inlets and canals; couches are like landmasses and tables are islands. everything rests on the floor. down here, i am with everything.
when the last item is packed and this apartment is empty, the floor will still be here. it’s the thing we all share. the place from where no one can fall. a resting place, a place of leisure, a sprawling bare surface. it sits there, wherever i go, ready to have me undo myself all over.
i forget how energizing elongating your limbs can be. i listen to music, letting it in one end of the stretch and out, longer, on the other. it begins to take on the form of dance, sometimes, the way it rises and falls with the sounds. how could it not? where does that boundary lie?
in all motion i stay close to the floor, using it as my only axis. the floor feels safe, grounded. it reaches the boundaries of the home, fills in the way water fills in a container. it’s stable, subtle; it is the only consistent structure throughout. skyscrapers of cabinets and towers of shelves break the floor up into different seas, inlets and canals; couches are like landmasses and tables are islands. everything rests on the floor. down here, i am with everything.
when the last item is packed and this apartment is empty, the floor will still be here. it’s the thing we all share. the place from where no one can fall. a resting place, a place of leisure, a sprawling bare surface. it sits there, wherever i go, ready to have me undo myself all over.
anne von freyburg
maybe i’m starting to understand why carl andre pulled so much attention to the ground in his work
~
