An annual Collaboration Art Project
Recasting a life with Fenzeit and smack.
Gamefree dashing through half squares,
swiping flying starts - takeoff.
Ideal morning start signalled on train platform.
Recharged steps launching up and over the bridge walk.
by Emmy Horstkamp 23/2/2024
Buildings on standby - archiving by brick and colour. Life to 47 passes by -what happened in 48. How long do I have bricklayer? My photos archive the bricks and colours Will you let me write down on paper, The story facades of today?
Two trains leaving for the same end, five cars turn to more than I can count somewhere in between sitting down and looking for the station exit. by Emmy Horstkamp 19/2/2024
Timetown delay. A day without an aperature. Enclosed by strangers. by Emmy Horstkamp 19/2/2024
Negotiating nothing new.
Crossing neither with badges or ribbons.
Years entwined rolling in digital space.
Heading to puzzle town, no hesitations.
by Emmy Horstkamp 17/2/2024
The collaboration photos and poems are written daily and will be available in 2025 as a book published by FoxRavenPress.
The above poem was written from a longer Storeyean poem. Four poems were written today based on a daily commute between two locations.
Backup life lined up for today, Watching lines and dashed edges profiled. Edition three reflected through injuries. Life cornerstones missing, breathing space needed. by Emmy Horstkamp 15/2/2024
Progressing, navigating through the green belt zone.
Reflections of brightness shining alongside.
Time town electrified. Beyond direct. Life unswerving.
Without a break, accidently on purpose. People transforming -- click.
by Emmy Horstkamp 13/2/2024
Architecture from someplace or another elsewhere. Cracks between the clouds, five to seven everyone is there waiting, everything stayed,for something. Moments ceased over the weekenders, paused, sitting tight, lying low. Now, holding phones, looking for Monday morning's push. By Emmy Horstkamp 12/2/2024
This morning I wrote four poems. The poem above is from the longer Storeyean poem.
Because my commute was longer, I left some of the calendars at home and decided to write those poems in my regular notebook. All of the photographs for the poems will be printed on stamped later in the week.
Today transformed into a sunny day.
Can we start the OTHER one?
A rainy friday morning impression.
Sight and faces again contoured.
by Emmy Horstkamp
Informal eight Commute
full of noise and bikes;
Looselipped conversations.
by Emmy Horstkamp
This morning, I commuted to work three hours later than usual. The crowd at the later time is different. The commuters sat together and talked during the trip, a little like the early afternoon commute.
They talked about work and other things which happened the day before or that day. I heard their words while standing near a bunch of foldable bikes. Someone was talking about the bikes and saying that if the queen stood next to a bike, the person might lose the bike if she stood by a bike, the bike could possibly be hers. So if the queen was standing like I was next to his or her bike, the owner of the bike would have to wait to see if the queen walked off the train with the bike or asked him to assemble the bike and then rode off on it.
I realised after hearing this conversation that there is a little bit of risk owning things in the United Kingdom. People of the Aristocracy or the Monarchy could ruin your commuter day by just liking your bike and inferring that they want it.
I promise the universe that if I want a second bike, I will go to the store and buy it. I will never take a bike away from someone except in an emergency, and then I would pay you for it. Promise.
No crying eyes ok.
Maybe it’s raining.
The wind blowing at the office building,
“Water damage,” said the guard.
by Emmy Horstkamp
The waves from the Thames
Pigeons fluffed on the walkway
Cobblestone bypass.
by Emmy Horstkamp
The poems above were written while walking to an office along the Thames. The walk between one office space and another took me past the Tate where a group of birds were sleeping on the onramp to the bridge. I walked as quietly as I could around them. The group of twenty fluffled their feathers but did not walk or fly away.
This area of London is quiet before eight and I walked to London Bridge without having to stop.