Dark Holes
Sofá Sofonisba—the cat—has thrown herself into what she can’t get out of. Under the door she slipped, into a cantine, and I can’t help her. If she got in there, after all, she should be able to get out. But she sits in the cool shadow and puts her paw out into the warmer shadow then withdraws. She must thrust herself through the small flat hole if she wants to get out.
This reminds me of myself: placing myself in a situation with no exit. I’ve done it on purpose, for whatever happens in art doesn’t really effect my role in life. Kind of, not really. Though my failures cast long cool shadows sometimes I must thrust my body through the small slit of light I’ve left open. Through the small slit of light is an answer to a question I haven’t even thought to ask yet but think of in the part of me left sleeping. What I mean is: to start over again on page one and ignore the hopelessness which tells me to give up.
Another installation in the series: Fridays in Bracciano.
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