31 July, 2013

Surely This Bowl

surely this bowl
cannot be filled with ink...
black prints, nonetheless

1 comment:

Hobbes said...

In Beijing Capital Airport is terminal 3, a pretty place built by Lord Foster. In the middle of terminal 3, tucked out of sight, is a small temple sitting by a pond. The fish watch travellers come and go, and I watch the fish.

On a raised platform are two tables, with stools beside. In the centre of each table, a little inkpot, as pictured. Every time I come here, I sit at the table. Every time I sit at the table, I tell myself that the inkpots cannot contain ink. Every time I tell myself that the inkpots cannot contain ink, I get black fingers.

I am stubborn, but the inkpots moreso. Neither of us refuses to budge, but the inkpots always win, and my fingers are always blackened.

One day, I will win - but not today.

I look for a towel to clean my hands.