The metaphor

This figure of speech comes from greek, “take to another place or transfer”. It features a similarity connection, books say. We are the ones setting up that connection. It is that collaged piece of cloth, that matter or texture what takes us somewhere else. Art takes us to that place where we want to be at.


“Young lovers seek perfection. Old lovers learn the art of sewing shreds together and of seeing beauty in a multiplicity of patches…” From the movie How to make an American quilt.
The fragment. A part and the whole. This is what it’s all about.


Because my land belongs to them. They were here much earlier. The land where I grew up is the land of theirs. I follow them, as other fellow species also do. Those that bring us harmony, those who love them and need them, like me. When we plant native trees butterflies return, same as bees, the sweet honey…


Rust. It was not me, it was time. Maybe I gave a little hand. It is metal that surrenders at last. Water, air, wind, acidity… And magic happens. Colors you can’t get out of a tube. Reds, oranges, yellows, also blues and greens. They are rust. It is time.