Observing
08 Thursday Oct 2020
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08 Thursday Oct 2020
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07 Wednesday Oct 2020
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If sleep is truce, as it is sometimes said, a pure time for the mind to rest and heal, why, when they suddenly wake you, do you feel that they have stolen everything you had? Why is it so sad to be awake at dawn? It strips us of a gift so strange, so deep, it can be remembered only in half-sleep, moments of drowsiness that gild and adorn. The waking mind with dreams, which may well be but broken images of the night’s treasure, a timeless world that has no name or measure and breaks up in the mirrors of the day. Who will you be tonight, in the dark thrall of sleep, when you have slipped across its wall? Jorge Luis Borges
29 Tuesday Sep 2020
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Golden doves Rest on your cheeks.
But your heart is a whirling wind And your blood like my blood rustles
Sweetly By the raspberry bushes.
My thoughts run rings around you, Just ask the night –
No-one can play As I do with your hands,
Build castles as I do With golden fingers,
Fortresses with high towers: Then we play at robbers on the beach.
Splendour fills my being When you arrive.
And when you press me close to you I can see your heart starring.
Your entrails Are scintillating lizards.
You are of a gold, a gold so deep That all lips hold their breath.
Else Lasker-Schüler
27 Sunday Sep 2020
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A smell from which all memory constructs itself.

27 Sunday Sep 2020
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Free me from the time from which you have passed and absolve me from within your presence. Like red roses in the hours of twilight draw back from the faded marriage of things.
Walter Benjamin

17 Thursday Sep 2020
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I want to become tolerant, without neglecting anything: I wish I didn’t persecute anyone, even if everyone persecutes me; become better, without realizing it, become sadder, but willingly live; become more peaceful, be happy in others; not belonging to anyone, grow in everyone ; loving the best, console the worst: hating no more, not even myself.
Elias Canetti, The Clipboard, 1942-1972 (from The Man Province)

10 Thursday Sep 2020
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My love, it doesn’t matter that I was born: you become visible in the place where I disappear. René Char
08 Tuesday Sep 2020
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04 Friday Sep 2020
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I understand. I understand why most people regard their dreams as of little importance. They are too light for them, and most people identify the serious with what has weight. Tears are serious; one can collect them in a jar. But a dream, like a smile, is pure air. Dreams, like smiles, fade quickly. But what if they dissolve their face and smiles remain?
Susan Sontag, ′′ The Benefactor ′′ (1963)
03 Thursday Sep 2020
Posted in Architecture, Art, Concepts, Uncategorized
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The idea was to spend 4 min per object and create 3 series of 10 sculptures that tell a story with a continuous and spontaneous thread. It does not leave time for thinking, you have to create order within your own chaos as said Pierre Soulages: “ we are always being stalked by two things that are equally dangerous : order and disorder. Order can be sterile. Disorder productive. And vis versa. I like works which allow me to construct myself. And which construct me. Rilke said something I admire:”it submerges us. We organize it. But it falls to pieces. We organize it again and we ourselves fall to pieces”. “



3 shadows behind your phonograph
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