Good morning sun,
rising over the astral body of an image – of the natural equilibrium between the collective and the individual. Take care of you, as well as you took care of me. Use, reshape or ignore the frame, it is only a frame for an image changing.
The sun is rising over the ending image of knowingly unknowing and vice versa. The norms transforming right behind you – the pioneers of unfamiliar familiarity. Meaning follows your every move or simply the stand you pose.
The sun is rising over the sea. Solar plexus – the center of self and courage. Nothing is impossible. Not even the ugly. The aesthetic impulse can never be wrong. The aesthetic does not need explanation. The sensation is real. A continuous story, the growing memory of rebirth. It becomes so effortless when you live it.
The image of the rising sun. It doesn’t have an image. You don’t have to have an image. You can be an image
The Dramaturg
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After each visit I wonder how to bring your knowledge overseas, closer to my home. How to even begin to explain what I experienced, wrap into words what should be touched, inhaled, felt through the pores of the skin. Minutes stretching to infinities while sipping tea with a little spoon…
Train ride in bright sunshine Stations wizzing by, then a bridge. Under September clouds a single bird turns and completes a new spiral. The sunlight blinds me I close my eyes, let the frail warmth sink in and fill my features. Time for waiting