I don’t want to read. I don’t want to write. I don’t want to do anything but be here. Doing something will take me away from being here. I want to make being here enough. Maybe it’s already enough. I won’t have to invent enough. I’ll be here and I won’t do anything and this place will be here, but I won’t do anything to it. I’ll just let it be here. And maybe because I am here and because the me in what’s here makes what’s here different, maybe that will be enough, maybe that will be what I am after. But I’m not sure. I’m not sure that I’ll be able to perceive the difference. How will I perceive it? I need to find a way to make myself absolutely not here but still be able to be here and know the difference. I need to experience the difference between being here and not changing here, and being here and changing here
I set up camp for the night . It’s a beautiful, unlikely evening after a long, rainy day. I put my tent down in an El Greco landscape: the velvet greens, the mottled purples, the rocky stubble.
But El Greco changes here, he makes being here not enough. I am here and I can’t be here without El Greco. I just can’t leave here alone.
– Roni Horn, “Making Being Here Enough,” from Pooling Waters (1994)