The light drunk in as into an oil slick.
In the dark basalt mirror we catch our own shadow.
As a prelude for pretties to be forgotten overnight.
Het licht wordt als in een olievlek opgezogen.
In die donkere basalte spiegel betrappen we onze eigen schim.
Als een voorbode voor de dingen die overnacht weer vergeten zijn.
The Leitmotiv of my coming book - if compared to a landscape - is the heath.
The heath is an abandoned though cultivated place where in fact a lot of things happen. It has relief, in which one doesn’t really know what’s hiding. On the surface it could look melancholic in violet, but the heath is full of life indeed.
Five different rhythms.
Five different movements who uncover to us.
They grow in different paces.
The grass in which we lie is displayed frontal and straight up.
Grass Frontage
