A Letter.



I decided to write a letter as if answering a question “how are you?”, but not out of politeness. Everytime, trying to answer the “how are you,really?”, becomes a failure, an attempt as senseless as an act of showing one’s family album photographs is. Seeing a flat piece of paper with forms, that look real, with people in it, smiling, posing, in different settings, time and place, with a person that tries to describe the preciousness of smiles, poses and people is always a failure, a misunderstanding, a polite smile “i see”. One can not truly understand the other because he has not lived the other’s life. One can only gaze into a piece of paper, devoid of meaning, of context, of experience and into the eye of someone else, thinking that somewhere, behind the skin and pupil, there is someone else. Alive and leaving a traces of being here.



I made a full circle of doubts and faced that question again. How are you, really ? My words and sentences collapse under the weight of endless and long attempts to describe something as abstract as experience. And i surrender, saying something that means nothing at all but refers to everything - “i’m fine, thank you.”



I decided to write a letter, but not with words. I decided that i will take a box, which will be my scene onto which i will put the people, the settings, the time, the place, the poses, the gestures, the moments. And then i will set them, ground them, make them act. I will write a spatial letter, within which everything is meant only to be seen. A container hermetically sealed, in which one can only gaze for a trace, that behind the flat pieces of paper with ink, there is someone else.

Someone alive.