I've been reading Gaston Bachelard's book,
The Poetics of Space, which I have been meaning to read forever. And I'm happy to say that it lives up to the hype, although the introduction was rather tough going - basically a logically rigorous defense of the poetry to follow. I'm happy to just read the poetry.
In any case, he has two chapters back to back, one on nests and the other on shells. It's interesting reading - he discusses the primal feel of security the images of nests give us (if he had only lived to witness the naming of the 'nesting' phenomenon) and the idea of resurrection to be found from the image of animals coming out of shells.
It occurred to me that the Battery Maritime Building, where David Byrne's Playing the Building is housed, really feels a lot like an abandoned nest, an abandoned nest now resonating in the movement that accompanies its evolution into something else. This sounding sometimes takes the form of squawking, sometimes moaning, sometimes rumbling, and sometimes making sharp painful sounds all over its body.
But then I read the shell chapter, and I also thought of this building, which birthed so many ships leaving its slips over the years, as a kind of shell into which the ships, and lots of lots of people, have retreated - and then left again, reborn into the symbolism of New York Harbor.
Fascinating stuff.
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