Waking up to Garbage: January 8

January 8, 2002— 7:20am

The poor weather continues, with only the smallest openings in the cloud cover. Large flocks of gulls are on the wing, flying in tight knots and making sudden twists and turns just above the surface of the bay.

I'm sitting on the concrete structure by the sewage outfall, which is prominently labeled "confined space" front and top, in more than one place. I can hear the machinery inside making sci-fi movie noises.

This place is so mysterious sometimes it feels as if I've landed in an alien world. What are these things for? What were the people thinking who created the land art? Who did it in the first place? And why is it so difficult to find out about?

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Photos Marijke Rijsberman, 2002

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