There is always, somewhere and somehow, a part of the building process when things are sitting or standing around, waiting for some kind of destination or at least a beginning of something. Unpredictable happenings, unpredictable fusions, the unpredictable potential of a certain material. And a white space in constant expectation of the new to happen. The boomerang throws itself back at me. Restless bending. It turns into a shelter.
Wait. It should be there already, pushing towards its transformation. But which one? Wait. A wise decision requires reflection, and reflection requires a pause – interrupting the spade that is digging through a hill of expectations. Maybe to find a sensual experience within, but somehow the material is deciding for itself.
Soulful disorder.
