Tuesday, 1 September 2009
Every story begins with a circle:the drama of someone pushed off and the struggle to get back in.In conflict with the small other and the big other.Meanwhile we are created by and creating constantly, our wailing walls of language. Messages of prayers and threats, invitations and exclusions, yet always desperately seeking to be deciphered, heard, understood, fulfilled.Always asking this big "Why?" that can never find a definite answer.Codes that reveal more by their way of expression rather than the message expressed.Like in this graffiti I read repulsion, but what I see is a group of signs excluded from the circle, fighting to get back inside.
Poetry is the language of life, in the end that is our precious ruin that remains.