Without words by making an image. Stitching time, fusing our bodies to a specific environment. In Malmö we will share in a stitching conversations in the Boarding school. Our poetic self is a joint body, we are a translator to words.
Related Blogposts
the seams concern me I look for the seams though I know finding them will destroy me there are no doors only curtains and insinuations of portals. do I dare map home, do I dare map my dreams? every object I turn objects which constitute this universe the blocks Today…
The rain lashes, the wind whips, many damp people groan and tut at the audacity of a wet winter. A journey; a long one with bags of objects that would be considered entirely surplus. We arrive and are left in the absence of tension. The scent in the air is…