The Timekeepers

Fiction as condensation.

Yesterday in our last class of “The Form of Things Unknown,” I welcomed writer Giada Scodellaro, author of the enigmatic novel Ruins, Child, now out with New Directions, to seminar. Giada gave a brief reading and participated in an open discussion with the students about writing, process, practice. The occasion to connect with Giada once again in this space was a nice opportunity to remember the ways we’ve been orbiting and reconnecting with one another for years, mutually intrigued. On a bit of a lark, we went to see Ellen Fullman play the long string instrument at Artists Space, and then the following Spring, we caught Ralph Lemon: Ceremonies Out of the Air at PS1. It has been easy going, and the years continue to pass between us somewhat uneventfully, yet the occasion for our encounters has also registered as mutually illuminating. We overlap in a shared interest in poetry and the writings of Marguerite Duras, but as I discovered after listening to her on a recent podcast episode where she was a featured guest for David Naimon’s Between The Covers, there is a vast compendium of visual references she traverses which is mostly foreign to me.

Exciting. During our recent encounter, we speculated on the practice of not-knowing, which lead me this morning to think of a piece I’ve performed a few times, from 2024, published in the catalogue Intimate Confession is a Project, ed. by Jennifer Teets. The piece, titled “The Timekeepers,” is not widely available, but because a few people have asked to see it, I thought maybe this might be a nice chance to share it once more.