“There was something natural to me about this concept of a disembodied presence haunting the streets of NYC.”
Tag: Hanna Liden
Hanna Liden and Nate Lowman: “Umbrellas and Dropcloths”
“Pedestrians’ sneakers would leave impressions on the slick wet streets, and the sidewalk silt – a mutant peat soil host to cigarette butts, boredom, annoyance, and other nuisances – would build up and finally disappear down the drains, to be stretched and hung on a wall, or hardened in a block of civic concrete.”
Hanna Liden: “Ghost Town”
“Yeah, I’ve seen you around. But when you’ve been here as long as I have, it’s not just you, it’s years of yous, or very-much-like-yous. This city breeds yous: hey yous, me and yous, sick of yous, fuck yous. As I’m sure you can understand, I gave up on names a long time ago.”