Trash Vortex

A wake of plastic garbage in motion, dragged by the North Pacific Gyre towards the 30th parallel, the horse latitudes, an area of calm equatorial waters and, just a little south of it, of winds of extremely variable direction. A zone difficult to pass, where often sail ships carrying good across continents took a long time to go cross. Forced to ration the water, they had to give up their horses by throwing them into the sea. Sailors say that the wind reject, if it blows towards the bow against the navigation route; the reject is an opposing direction which requires an adjustment to our tack, a serve to keep on route. There is waste and there is waste: bath tub rubber ducks, thousands of sneakers scattered in the ocean, used objects that we dump in the water and horses thrown into emptinness. And the horse holds back, rejects the obstacle, desobeying its owner. Throw away and serve, take a position by cutting things out. Opening a way through is a game among the two, and it wears them out. Walking in the middle of all that we did not want, or what we ourselves have lost, for carelessness, or having enjoyed the thrill, or by chance. Where has it gone, what each one is missing?

by Monica Bianchi
with Davide Vecchi and Sara Ippolito
music Giorgio Vecchi