Our dependence on the wired world is indulgent. We embrace illusions of speed and progress with more data than we could ever consume, provided by faceless monopolies. The physical wires tying us to these services are the city infrastructure we rely on for power and communication, considered primary needs of life. Mostly hidden underground, in certain parts of New York City they run overhead in the streetscape. Utility wires share their allotted space with the street trees that clean the air we breathe. These pesky wires impede tree growth over decades in a marriage of inconvenience resulting in elaborate entanglements. Trimming crews are dispatched to perform a utilitarian form of topiary called ‘reduction’, whenever a situation gets out of hand. Squabbling like siblings, ungrateful but codependent, demanding attention while silent, these trees and wires perform their own invented ritual, a shadow dance in the sky.
