Stance

Old man in the middle of the lawn. Angling and twisiting himself around the crux of a stick in order to face front-ways the dog that scatters and barks and wines it's way this way and that around the pond, over the lawn, across paths, veering in towards other dogs, rebuffing out again and pouncing back in. The man is some way off from the dog- it's many enticements, meanderings, fabulations; it's antics. These are not for the old man to know or even care about. He simply tweaks his alignment this way and that way like twiddling the knob of a safe through his body composure so as to ensure safe and consistant passage from his open chest to the tail, belly or rump of the dog. They are mutually entwined in this way. Not so much an affect as an instantaneous torsion that spans the distance; the space in between as if each levered the other; a remote sensing that cuts out motivation, incentive, call and response and unstead operates a single device of atunement through which the resetting of a dial is met and in that attitude the park opens up, trails away and cradles them in it's pulsating  and reshaping pocket. The detailed precision of this chiming together, the resonance that sets the wind spiralling on this sunny late autunm day is compelling, never the same, on going, pre-figured anew out of each redistribution. People pass, stop, sit down, continue on their way, in the throes of this tuning device- an instrument  that is being updated as I speak. Made to work again in the silent rushes; the flows and seizures that become evident in each particular stance.