On Williamsburg Bridge, Tuesday 13th October 2009

Shock-silver clouds and flash-silver rails; the sky a leaking of electrical blues, pushed ever upwards with the sun in pursuit; impossible autumn-green parks, fluorescent once-a-year-green parks, like italic quotations in the city’s grey prose. Rivets, girders and cage, the industrial bridge a thoughtless, careless pink.

Rich handpainted view, a moving freeze-frame. Superfine definition creates illusory motion. Every pixel coming forward, coming out. Real has become hyper-real, vivid, false. It has been veiled in the bright sunlight of consciousness. In the end the most beautiful thing is to be conscious.

The city's too-close horizon an urban Rousseau of vertice and plane. Winking gilded roofs peep out, sun-blasted brownstone blocks chessman-neat. Distant thunderstorms rollock and billow.