I want composition multiplied in reflections. I write what I think of as a wrapping text. Sentences the length of something wound. A ribbon. A reel. Sometimes compressed. Paralogical. The wrapping text is one that has a magnetic arc. Its place is the subtlety of combinations. Its centres that of coprecision. In the plural, the adjuncts move, trade places. Their cadence is toward a willingness. Their autonomy, in sculptural terms, is a question of what they make: armature, pedestal, sometimes devastating, like the face of a wall and its embrasure, whose link to the mouth, in embrasser, elucidates all the pressures of the kiss, all the pressures of the body. In military architecture, an embrasure is the opening or slit where guns or canons or arrows are fired. Like a loophole, it cuts a small mouth in the wall. A widening like indents. The expansiveness of line breaks. The hole only slightly wider than the muzzle it embraces it with its mouth. In dentistry the link to the mouth is literalized. Embrasures are V-shaped valleys between teeth. Duplicitous, the embrasure kisses nothing but swallows the composition of the landscape, its composure defined by what it disgorges. That link again, to the visceral, this time falling on the throat. La gorge. In architecture, the neck of a bastion. And of course returning to the mouth and to the stomach: to gorge. And then to composition again. To the valley between the hills.
