Eric Petitti in the Terrapod at the Bronx Museum Parking Lot
Mary Mattingly's Log:
July 22, 2012, From a Flock House in Brooklyn: After being here for a few days, elevated and overlooking the Manhattan Bridge, dependent on the vagaries of weather, working closely with my new neighbors, it is clear to me that we are building something.
July 18, 2012, From a Flock House in Brooklyn: Trying to use Amelia'sTelefoundry system to tether wifi. It's in and out. The house is comfortable and a good place to write from, draw from, and photograph from. Working on techniques for floating architecture using water encased in a membrane as the structural element. Imagine packable sectional bridges.
July 16, 2012, Moving Flock Houses: They're complicated to move. Working on making them simpler. If I had enough time I would make a platform/hitch for them to ride on. Right now I guess that sounds more complicated than moving them the way we have been doing.
July 10, 2012, From a Flock House in DUMBO, Brooklyn: Cozy, Amelia decorated the interior in reds, fucsias, oranges, and blues. Planning Flock House TV this week.
June 6, 2012: “A border--the perimeter of a single massive or stretched-out use of territory--forms the edge of an area of 'ordinary' city. Often borders are thought of as passive objects, or matter-of-factly just as edges. However, a border exerts an active influence.” - Jane Jacobs
June 1, 2012: Flock Houses are itinerant, small-scale architectural interventions that are moving through New York's five boroughs. Collecting rainwater, solar energy, and growing food, these units are largely self-sufficient but also utilize their surrounding underused resources. As a proof of concept and artist residency, they imagine an urban future that is based on modular infrastructure that can be taken apart and relocated for a time when humans need to be more mobile than we already do, due to greater environmental, political, and economic vagaries.
May 1, 2012: For the duration of the bubble’s life the blower was outside himself, as if the little orb’s survival depended on remaining encased in an attention that floated out with it. Any lack of accompaniment, any waning of that solidary hope and anxiety would have damned the iridescent object to premature failure. But even when, immersed in the eager supervision of its creator, it was allowed to drift through space for a wonderful while, it still had to vanish into nothingness in the end. In the place where the orb burst, the blower’s excorporated soul was left alone for a moment, as if it had embarked on a shared expedition only to lose its partner halfway. But the melancholy lasts nor more than a second before the joy of playing returns with its time-honored cruel momentum. What are broken hopes but opportunities for new attempts? The game continues tirelessly, once again the orbs float from on high, and once again the blower assists his works of art with attentive joy in their flight through the delicate space. At the climax, when the blower is as infatuated with his orbs as if they were self-worked miracles, the erupting and departing soap bubbles are in no danger of perishing prematurely for lack of rapturous accompaniment. - Peter Sloterdijk