We set off on a journey to a place for many a face, a city that shamelessly places its unique findings on its own faces. Culture and art was burgeoning form this live mound veiled by clouds and our intention was to pluck stories from it. Cold wind showed no mercy to our eyeballs as they scanned their surroundings, and we showed none to our feet.
As evening fell, we parted with the occasional misty twinkle from the sun, yet our journey was not over. There was much to see and read. Even the roads were telling us to observe directions we were not accustomed to. Escaping the cold, we took refuge in warm vaults where artists and designers incubate.
It wasn’t a coincidence that culture flourished here, since the many colour coded tunnels dug to carry people around aerated the soil as well.We descended into one hole and emerged from another, following the sharp reflections that could only be permitted by night. Losing our way to find something else.
We returned home with pieces collected from colors, sounds and the dark of the city. As London’s stories continued to germinate under the wet, hazy shroud, we etched as much of what we could read into our minds.