I look at myself - I have changed. Getting to know myself, wanting to know myself more intimately.
Put into it everything you feel, from the fear of failure to an inner high that fevers, worries, moves inside, and if you let it - spills out in a flood of words, thoughts, lines, strokes, trembling, nervous, long and true, as if catching your breath in anticipation.
The first thing that came to hand - and perhaps it’s the most important thing, the thing you’ve been running from for so long, daring not to look at yourself. Funny? Not daring to look yourself in the eye. Now look, look carefully, and let what you see be reflected in you. Try, put the image, of everything you see, together.
You look at yourself because you have no other model and you need now, you need urgently, immediately to see how the sun plays on human skin, how the atmosphere around you lays on the plasticity of your nudity. And then you wonder if it’s so coincidental that your gaze has fallen on you. After all, if no one else is around, you always stay.
Once you have paused and been in silence and boredom, the existing emptiness is filled by an explosion of what you have been waiting for.
What were you doing? - And then I was covered.
The bed, the bedspread.
Scattered sheets and sketches.
You and the empty room.
You and the empty space.
What emerges is a reflection of the dialogue of the two of you.
What happens when you’re left alone with the space?
You know how it is?
You wake up in the morning and you don’t know what’s going on. Something’s bothering you, poking in different directions, dropping objects, not sure what you want. The feeling of being unborn.
You and the room. You and your space. The empty space between you is a space to be filled, it’s free for something to emerge.