| Idiosyncratically
Here, the Stranger as a Lens
Longing
for one’s home. Not feeling at home anywhere. Not
understanding. Not belonging. Operating as a stranger, as an outsider.
Not knowing the rules. Missing Transylvanian hills and fresh mangoes.
Not making sense. Trying to find meaning in a reality one apparently
does not understand. Persistently questioning if reality might be
something else than any combination of sensorial perceptions and
theories might reveal. What happens when one gives up? When one stops
asking, interpreting, deciding, thinking, watching, listening, talking,
writing, hoping? When one surrenders to a seemingly self-inflicted
alienation? Or could writing itself, as a practice, offer shelter, when
language doesn’t help?
Writing about writing:
> In the pen, or the fingers Accidental image, a prayer and some noise: > And We Pray Voice contribuition to Fanny Zaman's piece: > Black Hole (link to soundcloud) Produced in the context of a one year artistic research and some performances hosted by apass.be. |