Fabula Historia

Fabula Historia is a city obsessed with stories.
Everything feels as if it was unfolded in a tale.

Walking down the streets. Going to the grocery store. Heading into work. Taking your dog for a walk. All of it seems to have a dramatic tone. An arc that is bringing you somewhere, building toward an event or resolving into a denouement.

At it’s best, living in Fabula Historia feels endlessly inspiring. You are carried along by the drama of life, forever the hero of the story and the world unfolds like fairytale for you. On bad days, you end up as the villain. You feel confined by character constraints that others seem to be writing for you. Whatever choices you make, you cannot seem to escape the determined logic that resolves with your demise.
And, of course, some days it is just a nuisance. Sometimes you just want to buy a new phone and cannot see through the density of narratives, packed into that tiny space, layered one on top of the others, so thick you lose sight of its function.

As you walk down one of it’s streets, you see a café. It feels a bit… shall we say on the nose… that you would come across two men, discussing something… engaged with each other and somewhat oblivious that you are listening in. It seems, perhaps, overly convenient to our narrative that you are here to listen in, but lets see where it takes us. We lean into the cliché…

You are distracted by something you see in the street. A boisterous group passes by. There are five or 6 young people all carrying signs. You guess they are on the way to a protest of some kind as they carry hand made signs. You can see one that says, “He does not represent us!”

Your attention returns to the table as the server returns. You cannot help but continue to listen in.

You take the cue from the server.

You wander up the street to find the exhibition.

You find what you assume is the show. A store front has vinyl lettering across the front. In big bold letters in a serious font is written : Stand In: an exploration of art and the politics of representation.

You go through the door. It must have been a clothing chain of some kind in another life.