Nicholas Barnard
3/12/98
Immersion
The Car
From the outside the van appears lifeless, under its own controls, dead inside. Closer in a driver and a passenger are visible, but this is just a glimpse of the life and activity under the light blue Dodge sheet metal shell. Inside four people participate in an idle quest to get back home, while the fifth executes their quests actively.
The fifth has the loathsome task of dealing with the dirty windshield caused by disgruntled windshield wipers, sand and salt trucks spreading their useful, but blinding wares. Lake Erie also contributes to the blinding conditions, experienced by the fifth person. Its annoyance is furnished in the form of water, specifically, piles and piles of white, blinding snow, falling from the sky at a rate far greater than anyone wishes to know.
From the inside of this blue bullet, the sound of rushing wind coupled with the bouncing of tires on the weather and war attacked roadway. This patter of wear creates a random rhythm felt in the buttocks and the sound of the loose pieces of plastic. The rattling and squeaking caused by either the abusive driving styles endured by this seven year old conglomeration of parts, or by the inferior work by and eighteen dollar an hour employee in a large rectangular building.
An exchange of reading material occurs. Some of the inhabitants of the blue vesicle have discovered that the cheapest way to gain access to reading materials, is by reading most of it second hand. This is if you can stand the messy folds of newspapers; the broken spines and dog-eared pages of books; and the ripped and folded pages of magazines.
In this blue vesicle the quest for home continues in the swapping of reading materials, the ponderance of the rhythm in the buttocks of the occupants, and the continual fight to see the road through the enemies on the windshield.
Nicholas Barnard
3/12/98
Immersion
A height challenged telephone pole
Along the side of the road, buried by snow stands a small telephone pole. This pole no longer serves any of purposes that it was originally intended for. It no longer carries the surging 120 volt power, or the noisy chatter over a telephone line. It serves no purpose anymore, it is lost and forgotten, among the lists of poles maintained by the electric company. A closer inspection reveals a small cornucopia of life. A quick glance a this short pole it would appear that miniaturized plants and otherworldly life exist on this stump. But, further study reveals multitudes of fungi growing of the once purposeless telephone pole. This life is an explosion of color, reds, grays, brown, and many greens, show themselves on this stump.
The centerpiece of this thriving environment is two tall green structures topped with a smattering of the most vibrant red. The leafy green common fungi, and its less liked cousin liken, are smattered around the telephone pole, fighting against the chemicals in the treated lumber, and apparently winning.
A mountain of green mold erupts around with the fungi, reaching to be as tall as its rock filled cousins. It ekes out an existence in the open space competition of this small world. To the left several inverted gray funnel fungi along with their maroon cousin inhabit another tract of wood. These funnels form a straight line emanating from the center of the wood, forming a miniature storm system on the wood, creating havoc within the cells of the tree.
This small abandoned pole has found meaning in the creation of an atmosphere that allows this overlooked life to exist in its own size and on its own terms.