You cannot see them. Small figures entwined in the metal that stretches to the sun come morning. They are concealed in a minature which is itself a concealment: the dreams of giants concealed in the reverie of infants.

To minaturise. To make useless. To remove from any claim or cause until the object stands in grotesque rememberance of its power. To minaturise is to liberate. Liberated from meaning into the fragility of existence. As breakable and fleeting as steel and stone.

Its to make whole what was once myriad – it is to make fragments out of meanings and render them mobile.


A traveller’s portable God.