From Orpheus to Icarus, depths to heights, and the thresholds in between. I’m interested in the moment when something becomes something else, when somewhere becomes somewhere else. That membrane that separates inside from outside. Retreating as we do in to the underlands , to molt our plumage, to exorcise our inside problems and emerge like newborn foals shaking, naked, squinting in the light. Don’t you know that I’m an irrepressible optimist working with a fatal flaw? The ghost that refuses to appear in the clock across the hall. You can set the table and call to her, but she decides when to visit. So, we imbue objects with crazy power to forget that we’ve been abandoned at a truck stop on the Ohio turnpike. To forget that we took a scouring pad to the places where art, music and community thrive. Promise to resist until you die and never fall apart again. - ANDREW BIRD
