Garth Graeper


[Gravel or Crushed Stone (41%)]

Stone masonry arose from the belief that two bodies pressed together could no longer outline malice. Large monuments built to blot out the stars and measurements of distance, pushing the eye to the ground. Surface claimed to be fixed.

Steps across pavement mark this place, accumulating pent-up force. By design, buildings expire on a different calendar than an idea.



[Air (6%)]

Remember the carved screams. Wind tore a fur off the trees, crystals that spread sound waves through the night. Currents too strong for us to move. No course across land when symphonies fire down with such accuracy.

CAVE is an old and necessary solution, a place to change our density, to channel anger into stronger wings.



[Water (16%)]

Built in echo chambers, vibrations push up and sink unnoticed. It’s difficult to identify with canyons, to measure the water level in our own deep spaces. Not drowning inside a body requires a thorough almanac.

Map the ghosts below: drill a hole, fill it with bone-dust, insert a hot metal plate to capture the earth’s condensation. When the moisture dries, a genealogy will remain, set in place like a spine.



[Portland Cement (11%)]

The threshold cycle. Slow muscles and streams of old blood cling to the valley walls. History occurs when a crust forms, inching outward, thickening the air away.

Everything seems solid, but the mud inside pushes up new obstacles. Explosion; rivers; a storm that erases all signs etched in the surface.



[Sand (26%)]

Underground gathering strength. Left here so long, counting keeps us warm. We name each other by shifting sand. These spaces mirror our last night above, in the fires; our remembered stars in place; our tunnels following unfairness in all directions.

On EXCAVATION day, our shadow will recast the surface boundaries, tracing the roots below.