Standing in space. Wide open away from any barrier, wall, manmade or natural object. Humans have a strange desire to be next to or under something. Taking a pee by a lonely tree. Creating an arch for your wedding, framing the lovely couple within the view. Grounding them. Why not have the wide expanse of the Arizona Desert rolling out before you, untethered, unleashed. But you take a picture by the only cactus within 20 miles. There needs to be a prop. Something to contextualise your presence on earth. Which makes it all the more bizarre that we seem so obsessed with travel into space. Space Twitter or X as it is now called. Putting the first people on the moon in 1968 then just waiting around until 2030 until we do it again. Apollo disasters halting any idea of mass migration to outer space. Elon Musk and Trump hoping to control the planet by regulating the space all around. They will charge us to breathe air before you know it. There is a fascination to searching the solar system, looking for likeminded inhabitants. So far though no one has turned up, except perhaps the clangers, trumpeting around with almost discernible presence. A fascination to look on where we all reside from a vantage point, from above, all trying to be gods, what an unbelievable waste of time and money. Fools fantasy. The planet is dying, yes, but rather than rush for the escape pod then surely it needs some TLC. People need help. Not some hair brained multi trillion dollar experiment. Imagine what you could do with the money. Applying for some small creative arts funds takes weeks of your life, jumping through ever decreasing hoops until you are squeezed by a Boa Constrictor. Review after review then your bid is deemed worthy of submission. Weeks of waiting, heart beating faster when any email pings into your inbox with the message “the quality of applications was very high…..”. And then, oh sorry you haven’t been successful this time. Please resubmit though, changing all your budget forecasts and being more realistic with your project aims. Be more realistic. Blimey. Fortunes are being spent propelling people into other orbits. You want me to be more realistic and less arty? Space travel is the ultimate rich persons folly. Pure art. Pointless. An inevitable outcome of greed and power searching. Can’t we just be happy in our communities rather than trying to form a space station on the boiling mess that is Mars. I mean a Mars a day helps you work, rest and dream of flying into the great beyond. Refugees, fleeing war torn nations battle across lands, rejected and looked down upon before reaching waters edge, crammed into flimsy life or death rafts, desperate for a life on earth. Do their kids wonder about life on mars, do they look at the moon and wish they could set foot on it or do they just wish for a safe place. Home. Not under siege. A place where they can exist. Not heading to some otherworldly final frontier but to real end points. Spaces to live within. A tree.
