Batik

This shadowy and labyrinthine town has swallowed the entire human consortium, I said.

It sounds like a chorus spinning around a unique emotional state. Voices and cries overfilling the streets, rolling  down at dawn and returning upstream at twilight

with a load of bitterness, pain

and courage.

 

A few days after the new dock opening ceremony, a large ship entered and two girls got off.

I noticed them because I’ve been trafficking with numbers, mostly

strings of two units at a time that I combine, pile up or split in grids to contrast their power,

(with the automorphic numbers, I almost touched the abstraction)

Then, because I feel lonely in this life made of non-empty sets.

 

They looked good: wide eyes, open mouths, tiny bodies and a nicety at any cost that made it all so genuine and fresh. Of that day, that signed the apex of my communication skill to the human gender, I keep a photo.  My nose is asymmetric. Look.

I never realized that.

I can’t stop thinking of it.

 

I’m a grown-up – even now -, bent on my numbers and framed by the artificial light, like a chorister in an orthodox church, a goldsmith in his father workshop or an alchemist, carefully stirring the Leonardo’s bistre.

My lovers have hung their clothes here and there. They swing spontaneously, nodding at me, dissenting at me, making fun of me, of my doggedly returning to these

refuge assets.

Low clouds (waiting for Springtime) – Apennines (Italy)

# 9

Monsieur Villègle

If I had enough energy I would

force myself to fall in love again.  Feeling fine or even euphoric ‘cause there’s still room for a sigh in my heart.

 

The cosmopolitan appeal of this town has almost removed any smell of provincialism in me.

I take care of myself, walk until late, look at the sky and rip adverts off the walls

not a real crime indeed, rather a teeny infraction.

Here is what.

 

Scraping the city is a vexation and a healthy exercise as well

I practice en plain air and take what the town gives: a word, a face, a picture,

(yesterday, behind a piano concert flyer, I found a small part of nude).

 

After so many years spent studying the infinite potential of the empty,

trying to catch and link together the rambling filaments of the matter,

I’ve come upon the genuine and revolutionary power

of the gray walls

 

I think of you often, in your small laboratory

adjusting the width of the ocular lenses to scrutinize the delicacy of a poetic sequence

and missing, a few steps away, the grace of a slightly asymmetric smile

caught in a moment of wonder.

 

I show my artworks out in the open

to have them stroked, hit and messed up by the wind.

They fold into whimsical shapes, play, sing and move,

come and go

as they please.

Fiat 600 Multipla – photo installation – test #1

# 8