THE CENTER OF THE STORM

I SAVOR THE STORM – AND THE STORY OF ITS SPINNING

Sometimes, the most utilitarian is the most beautiful evocation. I think of seeing things as voice — there is a calling to the eye. Walking down an alley, in the lushly posh places made in South Beach (Miami Beach, FL) — so early in the morning that the lights were out nearly everywhere. I saw three people, in a place normally thronged. Nimbus clouds unfurled in the starred morning.

Walking there, alley way, I spied this piece of metal on the ground: a drain lid — splashed with waste and rainwater, the wash of the street cleaners.

What I ponder are the layers of this signing. As a designer of things that oftentimes become “signs” I ponder the meaning of what lies beneath the character of them. How often considered, the emotionality — or the symbolic emblems — of the signing expression? There is a sign that tells you something, where to be, where you’ve been. And where you are going, or what degree of “lost” might you be — are you lost, or newly found? That symbolism alone, is profound — if you are lost, a sign might help you find your way back. And of course, the sign might be something that is not a build or definable object — but it could be the gesture to an idea.

The sign of the storm.

This storm sign (lid) gathers that — wonderfully; it is the ringing of the storm — the storm comes in the rippling patterning of storm cells that are spectacular spirals and whorls of energy — moving in, whirring out, the whirl of the impactive pulse of wind, water, transformation and energy. Storm: put a lid on it.

I find the most beauty in the most uncommon place, since it calls out to me, singing — what beauty, lies here?

The storm, story told in the cold steel of a rusted street lid, speaks of storms that have come, gone, and those that are yet to be.

And storms are surely something that I savor — stormbringer, bring them on.

tsg | sitting on a jet, somewhere above the storms.

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