fulton heights is in hibernation during these cold months. The space seems to be in a moment of transition. This is a place of rest now. Soon there will be a elevation in pace, but for now the inhabitants of this space are thinking only of the future or with nostalgia of the past.
An unfired clay form acts as a timer on the site. The cold season brings thoughts of pace and intervals, but one clay form is an intermediary and a reminder of other relative paces. Its self destruction is a function of the elements. This plot then is the determination of its longevity. The form and the space have a common cousin in the elements. It is in this space that I feel a heightened relativity to this local environment.
As I left the space a cone told me the cautionary tale of disregarding the pace and code that fulton heights has to offer.