The objects ask us if they can be angry with us. Just kidding; without a mouth things do not speak, but we can interpret them as when they are babies. In your world. We in theirs, accomplices fascinated by those strangers who first appeared to us, with their round, square faces..., smooth, rough..., colored... Beginning of love, emotion, destruction, presence, absence, becoming. Love, sadness. Good love of absence(s). Of continuity. Your journey makes us. Ponder. Feel ourselves, first, body. Without its limits, later defined. They surround us, bind us, hold us, vibrate in resonance with their strings. To be felt, then named, made in the words of the other. They turn us out, greedy. Inward, in return, transfigured, active, alive, "suffering", painful, scented with the unique scent that distinguishes each one of us among all "beings".

Write en miroir. Palimpseste sur painting. Mirror Sub-Irrealism. Random intratextuality.