The place where the sidewalk ends.

This was a little something I whipped up one afternoon back in my days as a "spatial designer"...

Even though I made it and have seen it close to a hundred times now, it gets me to this day. I apologise about the less than perfect quality, my hardrive self-destructed in the meantime so I was lucky just to have had a Quicktime version of the file stored away! But you get the idea...

Although considerably insignificant when compared to my other design briefs, it's probably the one I'm most proud of, probably because to begin with I didn't even want to do this thing they labelled as an "Urban Intervention". To me that was just code for "go make yourself look stupid in public and write about it"!  

Yes, the Fräulein can be stubborn when she wants to be! Otherwise she wouldn't actually be a Fräulein...But heck am I glad I got over myself and blocked peoples' passage with my poem writing in the stairwell that afternoon! That guy at the end, he made my year.

This was the poem that I wrote onto the stairs:

There is a place where the sidewalk ends 

And before the street begins, 

And there the grass grows soft and white, 

And there the sun burns crimson bright, 

And there the moon-bird rests from his flight 

To cool in the peppermint wind. 

Let us leave this place where the smoke blows black 

And the dark street winds and bends. 

Past the pits where the asphalt flowers grow 

We shall walk with a walk that is measured and slow, 

And watch where the chalk-white arrows go 

To the place where the sidewalk ends. 

Yes we’ll walk with a walk that is measured and slow, 

And we’ll go where the chalk-white arrows go, 

For the children, they mark, and the children, they know 

The place where the sidewalk ends. 

-Shel Silverstein

Beautiful huh?!

May your day lead you to the place where the sidewalk ends.

Yours truly,

Fräulein SoulFood x