asphalt dance, scrambled and celestial

created in the context of the art residency casa comum and printed on vegetal paper     what we’ll be capable of. when we’re in residence. when we’re together. when we learn how to untie the bonds and not let us be tainted by the streets. by the noise that surrounds. crossroads of encounters and a bit of peeling earth, house — many have lived here. we are. a short period of time, these days: i see transition. transition for me, transition at last, transition of polishing edges. transience. we are. rio de janeiro comes transitory, poking its lands down, …

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tiny little books placed in a garden ~     i was told about stories of trees. they would squeeze their boots to reach the other side of the ocean. obviously i said branches, not boots. spasmodic boots, twigs i mean, sewing versions of themselves in skeins, and each time they threw to the ocean. it was many times, over the years. so many it was forming a mount, then a mountain, and then an island, which buried whales beneath its roots. surface, i mean. the goal was to reach the other shore, and, without a shadow of a doubt, …

leaveplacetrans

the writings leave, place and trans- are part of the publication political vocabulary for aesthetic processes, organized and proposed by artist and researcher cristina ribas. trans- to conceive LEAVING the PLACE implies in a certain sense an overcoming. like going beyond a previous experience; a point that driven by MOVEMENT generates another situation.   to transcend a shapeless moment, barely functional, rickety. to undo a certain numbness, recognize all processes. to mix the disposal of intellects. an upturned compass, refreshed. in recent trips I made sure to carry a compass, my dearest companion together with a flashlight and a slighly …

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i was told about stories of trees. they would squeeze their boots to reach the other side of the ocean. obviously i said branches, not boots. spasmodic boots, twigs i mean, sewing versions of themselves in skeins, and each time they threw to the ocean. it was many times, over the years. so many it was forming a mount, then a mountain, and then an island, which buried whales beneath its roots. surface, i mean. the goal was to reach the other shore, and, without a shadow of a doubt, not sink. but they sank to another land, still unknown …