Eden Lighting
The inside of the kerb.
The fittings are the point. Not the light. The thing that holds the thing that makes the thing you came for. Nobody goes to a lighting shop for fittings. You go for light. But you leave with a fitting, a bracket, a piece of shaped metal that will disappear into a ceiling and never be seen again and without which there is no light at all.
I don’t know New Zealand/Aotearoa. I know these photographs the way a doctor knows an X-ray. The body was opened in February in direct sun.
Fifty. Fifty. Fifty. Fifty.
The tree did not read Heidegger. The tree broke the kerb because the tree was under the kerb and the kerb was in the way. The white stuff on the road is the inside of the kerb. The inside of things is usually white. Bread. Bone. Pages before you print on them.
A woman three storeys high is losing her face to the rain. A panther is becoming a wall. A horse watches traffic through the gap between two parked cars and the horse has been watching traffic longer than most of the cars have existed. The paint will go and the horse will go and the wall will remain and the wall will be repainted and someone will photograph the new painting and someone will write about it. I was asked here and I will leave. But I was here and I looked at these photographs and something happened that I cannot account for.
The note says: Hi Walking By, Hope you don’t mind.
I don’t mind.
I sells fittings. That is all.
— Mira Veld, Tāmaki Makaurau/Auckland, March 2026
© Jon Nicholls for the photographs
© Mira Veld for the text
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This is wonderful