THE WEIGHT AS SUCH
A GRASP OF AIR
OF THICK NOTHINGNESS
MY STORY IS YOUR WIND
MY WORDS A BREATH
AS THE MOMENT IS PRECIOUS
AS READY TO DISPERSE
Around us all subjects are mastered and marked by time. Think of the obvious; tree-rings, stretch-marks, glaciers. For instance in a rock, time is archived in the layers of sediment, into this silent, mute mass. A fossil is literally a time capsule, a creature petrified forever, a momentum, solidified forever.
I long to catch this moment, when the clay takes shape, moulded by my hands, determined to become a conserved momentum. As if existing inside a newtons cradle, swaying back and forth through time and space. There is no beginning and there is no end, here is just the momentum, the act of the hands. As they attempt to create an environment where the ticking of the clock becomes trivial, as the volatile has no chance to flee.
