Imagine a box, velvet black,
Low-key lighting like beams from a lighthouse cast.
Open space, no seats, silence.
Just a big black box
Waiting for actors, dancers, musicians.
It’s a space that will be.
Meaning will they make,
Like blank page to written word.
They perform, imprint our souls, move on.
My knowledge of transitional space grows;
From dorm room, to dorm room,
A kind of living box,
Year to year, term to term,
I see London, Seoul, New York –- the craze of pop ups
Integral to the scene of art and culture;
They are experimental, dynamic, exciting–
Today’s tweet for tomorrow’s mutiny
Changes business through under- or mis-used urban space.
We understand users, consumers, audience –
And feed our artists at the same time,
Which shows that learning is process,
And education, like performance, evolves.
Transience transliterates educational space,
For technology, the lure, shape-shifts
Form and function, tool and method.
In this way we inhabit our sea of virtual space.
Curious that small patterns secure us,
With daily routines and rituals
Anchoring our bodies to this fragile world.
Lockerbie, 9/11 still tell us so.
The black box is contained,
Yet open stage for interpretation.
Scatter ashes over salty water.
I am named her white wave, or phantom.