Ariel Goldberg

At the time of writing, I may have mistaken a double parallel in the money sign for another number one. The side view goes up for auction. What was once edited out. Meanwhile, the front facing view tells us early afternoon. The contact print digitized to the search. We see the clock, but don't hear the time. Only Multi media to zoom in. Crunchy vines droop, lacking leafiness. The top of the steeple got cut off to show more columns. And then, off to the right, a laser beam of cascading circles. The bottom evaporates in puffy protraction as the squiggle wand diffuses. Most defined by its point of contrast against a bell tower, the squiggle claims a hard edge at the top loop like pen ink still drying mid air. It's not a word, what's written. Or it says "one" turned on its side, verticalized haphazardly. Below, a chipping mural with plenty of bible to decode. Triangle part on rectangle part. Terminology.

Did the photographer arrange for the skywriting? I want to ask the known proxies for her body of work. Arrange a coffee date for the occasion of the question. Handled gently. Or to the papers. The caption rhapsodizes, "The problem [of getting the picture] was complicated by the fact that the sun kept going under clouds at the most favorable moment for a composition." In 1937, the plane’s fumes for a single inscription cost the price of a now roundtrip ticket to the other side of the country. It’s hard for me to believe the extravagance was anything but accidental, legible.

After “St. Mark’s Church,” by Berenice Abbott, caption by Elizabeth McCausland.