substitute materials
We are the Laboratory for the Development of Substitute Materials:
Seth Bockley
Rachel Claff Jessica Hudson
Chloe Johnston
Ira S. Murfin
Kerensa Peterson
Angela Tillges
Seth Zurer
The internets have Phantom City Syndrome. (Screen shot from Yellow Pages, 1/18/11)
How to use Lake Michigan to treat phantom city syndrome
There’s a place in the city that you know you’ve lost, but you still feel like it’s there.
A common problem among longtime city-dweller.
It can be treated, using Lake Michigan as a reflective surface.
So you need to go to the water. This part is tricky so listen carefully.
Walk along the shore.
Walking in the sand is never easy. You know that, I know that. But think about the exercise you’re getting, and soldier through.
Hopefully, the water is still that day. If you happen to choose day when the water is raging, go home. Wait.
Go to the edge of the water. Walk carefully, it is probably cold. If it’s not cold then the bacteria levels are high. Either way, don’t fall in.
Look down. Can you see yourself? Great. Can you see the clouds above you? Even better.
Now look behind you. Okay, now this part gets tricky again. There will be buildings behind you. Ignore them. There will be Lake Shore Drive behind you. Ignore it. Focus on the place that should be there that is not there. And see it.
Yes, that part is difficult, and there are…exercises we can do to get you ready for it. Don’t worry, you’ll be prepared.
Then look back at the water. It’s important that you really look at it. Look at the way it reflects back your features and those clouds above you.
Now close your eyes and once again, you need to see the place that’s missing. You’ve practiced this, counting the houses in your sleep. Do they jump over fences in your sleep. Now you want to fix them in place. Put them back where they were. Put the people in them. Hear the music from the jukebox.
Of course, there is no jukebox. No, I meant, if there was jukebox you’d hear it. We can work this out letter, in the pre-procedure exercises.
Now look at the water again. This time you should start to see the outlines of the houses, once again returned to the city. The people returned to the houses. The loss begins to depart. You can see the blowfish above the bar and taste the kamikaze. That’s a drink. Not that I ever tasted it.
What was I saying? Yes, the houses that you miss. You’ll start to see them. All the things we miss. We’ll start to see them. Not forever. They don’t actually come back. But they come back enough, in your brain, that the loss leaves. It’s hard to understand it. I don’t really understand it.
Patient X’s former house, the temple she helped build, the site of her husband’s jewelery store…
From the website Strange Maps (http://bigthink.com/blogs/strange-maps): Spanish artist Fernando Vicente’s artography … [superimposes] human and animal forms onto the countries and continents of a map … Vicente transforms familiar geographic contours into surprising new constructs. Maps become living creatures - although some ostensibly formerly living ones - and many of which have an ominous, unnerving quality. Maybe that’s because of Vicente’s predilection for slicing open his subjects, their exposed anatomy/geography investing them with the same morbid quality evident in Bodyworlds, the famous travelling exhibition of plastinated and dissected human bodies.


