Carpet Layers

The carpet prevents slipping where spills occur, dims the reflection of lights, dampens the loud echo of hard shoes.
After years of soft walking, threads come loose, seams come undone. Underneath, a scuffed tile, a glimpse of all the slips, reflections, and echoes, their texture, their history.
We cover the tile with a new layer, restoring the delicate numb.




Likeness — Elan Mudrow Photography

Alien Intruder or just the shadow of a nerd?

Burnt Lake, Oregon, September 2017




(The Square Peg)

via Likeness — Elan Mudrow Photography

The L Joint

On the roof of this five-story building is a forest of tar, softening in the summer, seeping rain in the winter. Pigeons roost there. Not in the tar itself, but in little areas where vents pop out above the forest. There is one larger vent, a two feet wide tube, that makes its way straight down to the bottom floor. At the bottom floor there’s an L joint, where the tube zig zags before turning back down, making its final destination, the extinct steam broiler in the basement. That L joint is exposed in a retail shop.  

Occasionally, pigeons fall down the vent from the roof, even if the top of the vent is roofed and fenced to stop them from roosting. Pigeons must roost. Since it’s a vertical drop and pigeons can’t fly like helicopters, they get stuck in the L joint. There’s no way to get to them, unless you take apart the pieces of the vent, shaped sheet metal, in sections, painted over in decades of lead paint. This, to the best of my knowledge has never happened. The pigeons scratch with desperate claws for a few days. Then silence.


(Next week, a hole will be cut in the side of the L joint. A little sliding metal door will be fixed to its side. Inside the vent, countless skeletons and feathers of numerous pigeons. Their remains will be placed to rest in respect. Now, when the scratching of claws is heard, I will take a very tall ladder and slide open the little metal door.)

Mountain Lake

Burnt Lake

I sit with her

Placing her in memory

Giving thoughts strength, yet

In her silence, she frightens me.

I rely on others

Camping upon her shore

To soothe my worry.

And although I haven’t

Seen her rimmed with snow

Echoing the clearest of nights,

Pitted with raindrops

Upon her clear face,

Witnessed her held tight

By mist and clouds,

I know she has experienced this.


She reflects me

Placing me inside her memory

Giving strength to her beauty, yet

In my silence, I frighten her.

She relies on the stream

And springs to ease her.

And although she hasn’t seen

All who I love, have loved,

My stumbles and woes

On nights of anxiety,

My elations and successes,

The clatter of the city

Reverberates within me

She knows I have experienced this.

Urban Mimesis — Elan Mudrow Photography

via Urban Mimesis — Elan Mudrow Photography

Fire had sustained, now it consumes in a slow gesture. Fingers—intact—same shape as they were before, can’t conduct. Invoking is a painted portrait, prepared each morning in the image of the moon.

Flame like flowers still shoots spells. Stems like wands direct their colors, greens, reds, yellows. The good ember, still visible—kindled, licks of heat, whispers of words—reignite.