| |
 |
 |
|
| |
|
|
|
|
|
Insistence on the almost nothing
|
|
|
It rained, but there was, for
a moment, a dry spot where the dog had stood. |
| |
|
|
I'm interested in the fragments
of conversation and the every day, in looking, listening and the mute. Attempting
to articulate the unspoken I explore the desire to find a voice as well
as the limitations and failures of such an endeavour. As the act of speaking
always also includes an ingestion and a regurgitation of the language of
others it does not necessarily confirm its subject. |
| |
|
|
|
| |
Writing is a loving attention, a room of possibilities,
which has no singular focus. The mind's eye wanders through the space, engaging
with details and surfaces, perhaps following several tracks at the same
time. On the surface of writing different aspects emerge and become lost
again for other ones to assemble. I touch on the hidden as it surfaces.
touching the hidden, it surfaces. |
|
A cloud of perfume was
left behind, which offered subsequent passers-by a delicious light sensation. |
In writing I anchor
my movements. Weaving in and out of images, retrieving memories and planting
forests.Writing is moving through the space and copntinuing to walk. |
 |
I am listening, looking
at the curtain in my room and hearing sounds from my memory, a canal, boats,
water, a lock. Writing words where there are no words I watch the letters
appear on the page, the shape of a p. Pause. |
| |
 . |
|
| She held her hand in the water,
which altered the course of the river for ever |
