23.11.2021 – 22.01.2022
What I write to you has no beginning: it’s a continuation. (1)
Something makes me stop. I observe.
I decide to stop that something.
It is the moment that vanishes, quick and vulnerable: thoughts constantly oscillate between what has already been and all other possible outcomes while the present moves forward.
If I catch it, I can protect it, replay it; I can look at it again to see it better, understand it, or even just not forget it.
It is an ordinary situation that can recur, yet it is always new: the reverberation of light on a wall, the emphasis of a colour, the shape behind a glass, geometries and movements, the irony of a composition, an enchanting presence. I stopped and collected an endless series of fragments.
Together with their image, I also keep the memory of their perception and my emotional state at that moment: each shot builds a future memory, an anthology of the feelings I felt.
(1)Clarice Lispector, Água viva, New Directions Publishing 2012, English translation
