STILL LIFE a portrait
this book is dedicated to my mother whose love never left room for any doubts
hidden underneath lie memories of yesteryear folding folds, molding molds, growing old objects etched with simple times as it is, is as it will be when we look at the moment, still in life
constellations lamentations abbreviations contemplations flagellations
have we ever felt the world as real? or has it all been a dream too long? have the forms appeared and disappeared? or have they just been dancing on and on? have we been or have we had been? or have we just been being all along? have we really managed to be strong? or is the weak a part of this song? have we been trying, yet feeling all wrong? or have we been feasting amidst the throng? have we ever felt the world as real?
paint so thin the walls might crumble when winter nights approach, in darkness we stumble
craving safety in order building order in chaos knit a scarf out of life‘s fabric and wrap it around our shivering throats
