When a memory, a painting, and a question emerge as the place for exploring the matter that affects me, even in raw stage, pulsing, here is where I can take my – pardon – where I can take her wrist, circumscribe her, perceive her, hence delimiting the fragile, delicate, and sensitive place where lies what uneases me.
I begin with what is close to me to write a letter. The letter binds the memory of what was written. The letter has the presence of me, who writes and interpellates the you who reads. The letter has a time, intimacy, and memory. And our home? In a permanent mutation between what’s inside me and what is our home, this letter is a fight against oblivion.