Untitled by Virginia Poundstone

I had visited the previous HDTS iteration and was engrossed by the voraciousness of the landscape. As an interloper, the landmarks of boulders, Joshua Trees, and homesteader cabins were indistinguishable; the irrational sensation of getting swallowed up seemed very real and it felt like the future.

Demarcated by a couple of street lamps (rented from a Hollywood prop shop) and Mylar flags (bought on the internet– which was a somewhat novel place to find art supplies, digital cameras weren’t even viable yet), the installation sprawled a hundred feet square. The lights were powered by a generator, which hid behind a large sage bush. In the day, it sparkled like an oasis from the main road. But the best, and most surprising, part about the work was what happened when the sun set and the winds picked up. The flags fluttered so aggressively that the sound of their flapping was further teleportive. It sounded like a very loud beach, but looked like a used car dealership had slid between fault lines.

—Virginia Poundstone

   
      ¸.·ℳ¸.·´¨)𐌄 ¸.·*¨ɱ) 
(¸*.ᴑ·´ (¸.ʀ·´ .·´🄨 ¸