Nobody could refuse to see the city as a large scale game of Memory.
Somebody painted the door of a car in a fancy colour. A no-parking sign is hiding behind some trees. If I had a love message for you I would also write it on an advert in the underground: Walking with you in my head. A tree has grown in front of a cannon. The content of an ad-shell has not been replaced for three years. A clock’s glass has been smashed and the hands have fallen down, now resting somewhere between half past five and six.
I see these different aspects but I am not an observer – I just collect things. If you run out into the garden and stand there in the dark with just your pyjamas on – you are certainly searching for something else. It is obvious that there is some kind of network which links these thoughts and objects. But most of the time there is something or someone missing.
There was a letter missing on the Mac Donald’s sign at Norrmalmstorg when I was there one day in February.
I do not think that my collections are somehow significant for this town – it seems to be more about the movement itself. All these parts and glimpses are in motion because I myself am travelling.
You can see what I can see. If I walk with you in my head – I see you everywhere. Somewhere else in the city a small dog is a good excuse for slow cycling.
It’s like making one part of your mind say obladi and making the other part of your mind say: what does it mean.
ANDREAS RANG: Transit Ride. 2004.

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