(...)You will not forgive me, if I do not say something of Hanover; I cannot tell you that the town is either large or magnificent. The opera house, which was built by the late elector, is much finer than that of Vienna. I was very sorry that the ill weather did not permit me to see Hernhausen in all its beauty; but in spite of the snow, I thought the gardens very fine. I was particularly surprised at the vast number of orange trees, much larger than any I have ever seen in England, though this climate is certainly colder. But I had more reason to wonder that night at the king's table, to see a present from a gentleman of this country, of two large baskets full of ripe oranges and lemons of different sorts, many of which were quite new to me; and what I thought worth all the rest, two ripe ananasses, which, to my taste, are a fruit perfectly delicious. You know they are naturally the growth of Brazil, and I could not imagine how they came here, but by enchantment.
By Mary Wortley Montagu, from a letter written to her sister Frances Pierrepont from Blankenburg, october 1716
What, I ask, more painfully embodies the illusory, unfulfillable promise of mobility than our titanic daily tussle with cables? The bloody things drive me absolutely bonkers: the cable on my TV, the cable to my smartphone, the cable to my laptop charger, always tangling up with the wires from which I hang my glasses, my headphones, my ever-changing collection of necklaces. No wonder the ancient sculpture of Laocoon and his writhing sons being attacked by a sea serpent remains so perennially topical, contemporary even: cables conjure the mirage of movement, yet forever keep us chained in place. We´re never going to get anywhere all tangled up in these so-called power cords.
By Goshka Macuga, from web-page of GONOGO, a proposal for Fourth Plinth, 2021
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