Today’s Miles: 16.5
Total Miles: 2,831.4
Near Schüllar, Germany – November 16, 2016
It’s a brutal, sapping day. Rain that never seems to end, that soaks into everything. Cold. Mushy snow all over. Mud. A thousand paths crisscrossing through the woods to confuse me.
It’s the kind of day where you sink back into your mind and shut off the world while you walk. The miles come slow. Water soaks my legs. My feet slip in mud. The rain never seems to stop.
I pass a set of metal doorways and slabs in the woods, then a giant stone as big as a van surrounded by a frame of huge treetrunks. A sign tells me they’re sculptures, each representing high concepts and abstract ideas like man and time and space, each a few miles apart, strung out along a trail. Trees planted in the shape of a falcon come next, mixing wild nature and order. I stare at them for a few moments and trudge onward.
Then I see a structure in the distance. Its bright green glows against the dark green and black of the forest like a neon sign in the shape of a building.
I get closer and see that it a three walled structure, one side open, about the size of a two-car garage with a high roof.
“Nature and man’s cultural attachment to and involvement in it are the theme of Gloria Friedmann’s work…” a sign reads.
The rain pours down.
“The Green Station is part of a series of architectural works integrated with nature…” I read. “The house, which has become totally integrated into the biotope of the forest, appears from a distance as a monochrome sign due to the varied green hues of the bushes; on closer approach it looks like a sculpture…”
I stare up at the ceiling. It has three huge circular holes cut out of it, for art, I suppose, but the back corner is covered, protected, and the ground is dry and out of the wind.
“…and becomes a shelter for rest and protection when standing directly in front of it,” the sign continues.
I stand in front of it, directly in front of it, smile at the sign, then scurry inside to accept the sculture’s offer.
Rain falls outside. The wind swirls the treetops. The green house doesn’t move. I sit in the back corner, the one without holes in the ceiling above it, watching the world outside through the structure’s frame until the neon green fades into black as night falls.
I love art.