I stand at the point at which the river passes away from the ancient concrete walls designed to trap it in place as it winds its way through the metropolis. Turning my back on the rising spires of the cityscape and keeping the decaying industrial zone to my right, I look out towards the river as it laps the mud banks to the east. Laid out on the mud is a museum of artefacts, dripping, rotting, covered in years of dirt and algae, left to remain as the waters bay and retreat, dredged in a process of solipsist submission; each object becoming a vessel for the scum of history to travel within; each a conduit to the chemical make up of three hundred years of vicious unyielding growth, the birth of technologies and their death through progress.
