Doors, portals, thresholds… they all hold a special fascination, an enticing promise of the beyond. They are necessary demarcations of crossings-over, they give meaning to their surroundings while being devoid of any by themselves.
My fascination with the transitory, the liminal had always persisted. My first memories are of myself wandering through an empty airport terminal, lost and alone. I played in stairwells and hallways, spent my teens in underpasses, malls, and train stations; I’ve lived and drifted in un-places all my life. I never cared for where I came from, or what was to come.
But one day I happened upon the hidden doors. Once you know how to spot them, you see them everywhere, hiding in plain sight.
I hate them.
They invade every non-space with meaning. I ignored them for as long as I could but they follow. There is only one way forward, only one way back. I decided to take neither. I’m at the threshold, forever. For I have become the door.