you gotta build the place. listen and imagine it and yet there is no route that’s not weaving, invention, matter and cooperation, chance. you gotta wander. move the mounds and invent them all, exist in action and heal the land there is.



studying theory makes me feel like in a conversation. i look for listening and conversation in all that reaches me.

i go where arms seem to open up. legs take it, and look up: they insist on adoring mountains.

things get perceived during travels i create. some of them make ground, ranging, while others are found from inside.

breath comes and a mute body squirms. it swallows. draws noise from accidental actions, or looks for collision as a way of cure. it dances. makes no voltage, looks for ground among all of that happens abruptly, wall after wall and a body that tends to anchor itself, seated.

to remake a dance of gestures, of the minimum, of esteem. of the encounter. a chain of affections gains complexity. amidst diffuse impressions, numbers, common randomness, places that are no longer familiar: seam, drawing and building bridges over membranes.

a risk we only know when it is. as in photography. something of unexpected sustains my breath, of seems to point out an axis to go.


inês nin
rio de janeiro, 1984