In my imagination, Texas is empty, big, hot, a summer whale of state. The state in the United States of Summer. I like its dusty surfaces, stained glass, closed doors, bleached flags and fields, lamps and fences, cactuses and magnolias, unmeasurable spaces. If one is to assemble a full archive of Texas, one has to have an infinite stretch of time at one’s disposal. In the absolute quiet of ideal library, piecing images together, one is to compose a detailed description of all miniscule events which were never to happen in Texas in reality unless one documents them.