The City

The City, from Mas Yendo

There is a moment of silence when every object is gray and projects grayness.
Before the arrival of dawn,, there is neither light nor shadow, only a void between time and space. A place evolves and decays, at once liberating and repressing us.

Glowing in the dark horizon. Like an insect attracted toward light.
The blinding torch of a city. Pixels of light become windows.
A vertical fortress pulls us towards its pulse. The towering tentacles of the metropolis spit steam into the sky. Its labyrinthine, steel filaments mesh together like roots of an overgrown tree. Back alleys made of refuse; clusters of deteriorated steel boxes, assembled from industrial parts. The streetlights reveal wretched, left-over spaces. Mechanical elements bulge from decrepit structures. Naked pipes wrap around each other in bondage. Loose wires, rusted steel panels, chipped paint, and layered walls capture the essence of the city.

This sinful place does not creep into hiding; it exists. It is emotional, temperamental, irrational, discontinuous; it is as logical as we are. The city embodies memories, events, and anticipation. A manifestation of our lives, ideas, and knowledge, it is trapped by limitations and furthered by possibilities. We cannot help but find ourselves in its destruction and construction, its form and shadow, its ever-changing density and complexity, its pavement and its walls.