Don´t just do something- lean there.

Shear, push, wither, rust, thwart, shove, lean, budge, pull -

The Shack Manifesto


Approach: I have been standing outside for some time. I wait and listen, looking for signs of life in windows and openings. I come a little closer, stepping carefully to avoid the dangers of upended nails, loose stones and concrete debris entangled with strands of barbed wire.

I enter with a feeling of not quite being allowed here. I leave the door ajar and look around. Nobody else in here but me. The place is long abandoned; a palace of possibilities. This is an inert room in a still landscape. I step across the floor, testing the boards for solidity. I can see the outside through cracks and holes in the walls. The shack aligns itself with the landscape as I move through the room. Everything inside looks so much bigger than I thought and the outside recede in the distance; a horizon dotted with faraway features. I am all to scale and alone in here.


There is usually someone in a nearby village, in a gas station or in a convenience store who will talk to me about this place. I will hear lore of transient residents, of goings-on at night, of weird sounds and lights emanating from within. The tales are plentiful in these parts. I take note of imprints and traces in the dust of windowsills for guidance.


The pull of possible interface. The layering of time and wear. Light sifting through walls; rays of sunlit dust on the floor spell out unfinished narratives that beckon and call for attention: Hello! Hello shack! Hail shear! Hail wither, rust, warp, rot, decay; hail falling off, prying loose, leaning to; hail rattle of corroded tin; hail squeak and twang of framework shorn; hail to these places of where the distinctions of outside and inside are blurred; where everything is uncertain and anything is allowed.


All shacks are mine.