Terra Incognito

Three black sails are set, hoist high above the heads of the crew. The crumbling plaster work peels away to reveal ragged coastlines, a terra incognito beyond. As the unseasonably warm November night begins to fester, we skulk in the shadows of girders, leaning against each other as the city’s subterranean tendrils coil around the basement room, disparate, wayward denizens, plunging into the depths, searching for something deeper. Trying to escape our own shadows we find only ourselves. We shift from foot to foot, transferring weight, trying to disappear. Down here, underground, this city is most like itself – nascent yet fully formed, roughly hewn, eking out of the earth itself, raw and determined, brick by brick. Channeling its loops, beats and oscillations through the metal beams, through its old northern bones, through voices detached and disaffected, the city lures us in. Despite the darkness we rush towards it. Arms outstretched.

Jenny Hval
Soup Kitchen
Spear Street
Manchester
8th November 2015

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