Saturday, February 9, 2019

On stories

“I don’t want it be over,” she cried. 
“But it’s not over,” explained Crow. 
“What do you mean? You just finished the story,” she said, as she pulled up the covers. 
“Stories never end, child, they only pick up again from some new starting place. Now go to bed. Tomorrow is a new day.” 

Mobile: Camus 

Size: Approx. 22” tall x 14” wide 

Colors: Belton Molotow Premium paints in Anthracite Gray and Shock Orange 

We are very much the stories we tell ourselves into being. Day in and day out, throughin and throughout our lifetimes, we walk the path of words and actions. We walk with bodies of language. Always in (some) place, we talk within walls of our making; speak within a world often divided between what is “out there” and what is “in here”; we vocalize our feelings, fears, hopes, and dreams against a backdrop of other bodies, other ways of walking, and still other places. With memory we dance with the skeletons of the past, refleshing them in the present, attempting to preserve some of them into a distant beyond. We confront, conflict, exchange, change, doubt, and wonder and yet we are always on the move – time and space wait for no one. As we speak our stories, what do we know to be true of the speaker, the spoken, the spoken to, the space around, the place between, the time within? What are the relations that attain between the words and action, the stories we tell, the memories we share, the places we create and those we occupy, the secrets we hold, the life we live? What do we know? What attains? It’s love. That’s what it is.

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