Faded back into the currency of dreams a minute to the hour when Jen, his wife, conceived…. “Lands, cities, are ships with sails of darkness (sails of light) as the clouds or the stars unfurl into conventions and maps. Tenanted floods. Tenanted fires. Confusing landmasses of myth to house unborn (yet psychologically born and demanding) tenants and populations.” Da Silva was dreaming still that the postman drew into harbour and knocked in the body of his wife’s house to deliver a map of unborn, yet born, populations. A pregnant response—as she hung upon the thread of inhabited, uninhabited, worlds—wreathed itself into a mutual cry, eternal mother and child. Perhaps that coming eternity of a child was offspring of Mercator’s stick, across four painted centuries of the making of modern maps, as the balance of wealth shifted by degrees from the gold of the Indies to the rise of a northern Atlantic civilisation.
What do You think about The Tree Of The Sun (2013)?
