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I bumped into Tadao Ando last night, a dream I assume or perhaps an accidental slip into some nearby quantum driven alternativity. I was assuaging my disquiet, at the time, with a visit to Silence. As the plumes of fine mist dissipated, his silhouetted face pulled to clear focus. Through the balmy summer lack of air, we acknowledged each other in a barely perceptible gesture before conversing in a language neither of us could speak. The unreality of the situation patently clear as I perfectly related the enormous influence his work had had upon my well-being and that he got it. Physically moved. A tear formed in the corner of his eye, crawled slowly, steadily, down his cheek and plummeted audibly into his Silence. As it splashed into the shallow water the vapour mechanism kicked in and he faded away, leaving me, again, alone in my thoughts and a misty tinnitus. It was the greatest honour to meet him. Even more to succinctly illustrate my admiration. I wish it ever this easy to convey a gratitude.
Taken in Mount Street, Mayfair, London in July 2022 / Nikon d750
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