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A space is filled with objects. They speak with the corners, the joints, the windows and doors. This space holds them carefully, tenderly – not to be bound, but rather supported by the walls that contain them. This space is then filled with bodies who deal not just with surface and immediacy, but work along the tracks of time and reflection. They rest like the objects do. It is here where they all have a chance to be more (if they choose to). They maintain their own pulses, but together fall into a rhythm.

take my hand. 

To know a thing is to know a person; to know a person is to know a place. These objects sit, lay, balance. They are like the furniture though clearly not. Hovering between found and fabricated; not quite sure where to rest (but they’re resting). Prepared with intention, each finds its place. There is a comfort that comes with time, so feel them entirely. The body to the surroundings, from the outside in. Warm and rigid, hiding. Concealing while revealing. So rest when (and where) you can.

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sisters, not twins, 2017


                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     © juliane foronda