Wrath: Seven Deadly Sins
As the crow flies, susurrating city, a million lives lived in tandem here, there a million more, hot air flung up from below, from above a merciless sun baked sky; lower, closer, wire landscape straddles; winds blistered brick in a spool of black, descending floor by floor by floor, a staircase pours feet into the street, another ascends. Knotted girders split the pauses. The city; how it has grown. Suffocated. Metal on metal corroded twists. Hold up the sky; indivisible load. There is enough silence in the morning to hear birds outside the window on an ordinary day. For each window there is a microcosm, for each microcosm there is a line of sight. A brief, indifferent, ordinary end.
‘In the souls of the people the grapes of wrath are filling and growing heavy, growing heavy for the vintage’- John Steinbeck
Client: Koel Gallery
Category: Art Installation