Windows, as if another eye. Metaphor of our perceptions. That outer world is no other than our inner world. They are absence and they are presence. Only the space is limited, not our imagination. Not a door nor a wall. A portal? They take us into other worlds. Or is it the world of others?
A visual poetry project. “Kalos” means beauty in greek. Visual poetry, almost an oxymoron. A piece of text is not that different from a drawing, though, or a collage, or a song. Image and word may be equivalent. They are. Classifications may bring trouble and interfere with creation. I let myself be, create, write. I make poetry.
Twigs, leaves, round or narrow, veins.
Flowers, colorful and with multiple patterns… Shapes.
My backyard and my walks. Or my fantasies.
My own catalog. They have their story. Or their song.
Like a “Darwin” of my own universe. Made up? Sure!
I chatted with each leaf, each flower.
They talked to me, or it was me doing the talking.
They asked me to portray them. I’m not lying.
Windows of within
2020. A window. A soul. Plus mine that observes too.
Subtleness of an instant, it comes and then goes.
Leaves a lurking space, that of a vanishing thought.
Comes and then goes. And again. Silence remains.
That resounding silence, the one of questions, the one of imagination.
You go walking and it’s just a moment.
You want to capture that feeling but it slips away.
You resist. Ideas and questions spring up…
You keep moving. A piece of you wanders around, like that breeze.
That blows, goes through but then something stays there.
You hold that which you felt when breathing it in.
That breath is all it takes to create. It blossomed. And it was spring already.