The Puzzle Maker

The city is a puzzle and we are its constantly moving pieces; new and old buildings compete with each other for shadows on the pavement, and we let ourselves being caught in this, forgetting to lift our eyes up - where the magic happens.  

But the sky is still out there as well as the human spirit which rides the bikes and honks the horns, and listens to loud music on the earphones - beautified and brutalised, our spirit wanders and learns, carried around by inner mechanisms we are yet to fully discover. 

We want nothing.

We follow the light.

In fact, the light follows us; we are seduced by the way in which it plays with our senses, how it invites and lingers, how it allows us to be ourselves, to shine, to squint, to move slowly, to reveal. 

We have no impatience.

The bridge, the steps, the dust, the length of the embarkment, the walls, the windows, the arcade, the bins, the statue, the metallic facade.

Large groups of school pupils visiting the Imperial War Museum, covering with their happy voices the sound of machine guns. 

Inside is not safe. Security checks. Property. 

So I bend and kneel, and let her rule the city. She is my goddess, I say, but in truth, She is the Puzzle Maker, the missing piece that helps me put everything together in the madness and beauty that the city is.

She punctuates the rapid movement of clouds and cuts up the time. 

When She is sure the fire burns between the worlds, She stands over the city, raises Her arms over it, and fills it with light. 

Look out through my eyes, look out at the things you've made. All things shining.



Model: Georgia Owen (