A book standing spine-up on a dark cherry wood surface. It is old and beaten up, worn-out blue, with faded gold lettering that just about reads: RETURN TO EARTH. More text underneath and to the side are illegible. It casts a monolithic shadow in front of itself.

I read Buzz Aldrin’s autobiography ‘Return to Earth’ in 2020/1 as part of my research for The Siren of the Deep – a solo show I did at Eastside Projects in Birmingham. The arc of it has stayed with me ever since, and is a part of this work too, so I’ve come back to it now. He describes his whole life leading up to the moon landing – achieving excellence in every stage of the specific path he’d cut out for himself (or sometimes by others), until this extreme pinnacle of achievement – something no-one else had ever done before himself and Niel Armstrong – a transcendence so astounding it had previously barely been imaginable. But then what? This is the bit I’m interested in. He ended up in a psychiatric hospital, because the depression that followed was too much to cope with. Because, what do you do after you’ve landed on the moon? 

I think this is the hole that apophany fills: the absence of epiphany.

An open book. On the left page is a black and white photo of an astronaut in their suit. In the reflection of their helmet is the sketchy figure of someone else, or perhaps just some equipment. The horizon in the reflection and behind the astronaut is black, meeting the edge of the moon they’re standing on. On the right page is text in a dated font which reads ‘RETURN TO EARTH, Colonel Edwin E. “Buzz” Aldrin, Jr., with Wayne Warga, Random House, New York.’ A white hand holds the book open, a milky painted thumbnail pins down the left page at the bottom. The book is resting on a white surface.

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