Maree Makom

End
Night. In an abandoned parking lot near the path
for pedestrians paved along the Hudson all the
way down to its south end, a figure is drifting,
sliding, forgetting herself on the black wheels,
backwards and forwards, her feet dancingdeciphering
a private rhythm throbbing inside her.
Gliding along the empty grounds aimlessly, she
inhales the hot scent of thick sweat mixed with
cigarette smoke and car fumes, and is sailingcarried
into the rain of city lights sprayed upon
her. The dance engulfs her, lifts her, spins her
body light as air within a gaze without margins and
seeing backwards. The world funnels future-less
sorrow-less into that moment and into the one
immediately replacing it.
Video Recording Site
New York. A promenade in the west
of Manhattan
Video Recording Time
Spring 2000
Participants
Anonymous
Soon, another figure, precisely identical, joins her,
passing along a similar path, backwards and
for wards, the turns repeat and recur doubling as
in a mirror the ones preceding them. And thus the
two dance there attuned to the same hidden
rhy thm, their bodies semitransparent, one nex t to
the other, or one in place of the other, duplicating
the absence that the repetition is attempting to
conceal, in retrospect, and the isolation, at the
hear t of that moment which itself is only an echo
of a moment that preceded it and that there is no
longer a way to recover.