DROIDS: Domestic Labor. The forgotten “people” that lived and worked among us. Walking home in the middle of the night past all the fallen: the radiators, shredded paper, AC units, trees, kids, etc., I feel the power of the droid.
Here one thinks of the lost art of “noticing.” (Also called “paying attention,” which I like for its acknowledgment of currency exchange.) Anyway, what I do dead-walking home from work in the middle of the night is notice things again. Same walk every shift. Things I’ve loved and noticed for a long time now, but I feel tonight that the relationship is deepening. They are now imbued with a kind of red melancholy. Specifically these clapboard window shutters.