Behind the wall
I sensed a monument of man.
And dreaming I could reach
through things
my hands grasped
and kneaded the world.
As if in a quake
a tremor from below
shook the room of the house
and walls fell
in an avalanche
of vacuum drifting away.
Like a scream
without a voice
words ceased to sound
and you and me ceased to exist.
At the same time
we were aware of it all
and still are.
I see you on the other side of each door opening.
When I step into the room, you step out.
When I leave, you enter.
Halfway once I ask you who you are.
You smile and answer.
Before you see me, we are one.
After you leave me, we are one.
In between are the doors of creation.
No one really enters.
No one really leaves.
A system of invisible worlds
Curled into itself
Stretching beyond imaginary horizons
Were everything lays dormant
Tribes found archetypes of reason
Modeled after floods and droughts
Scaffolding involuntary hand gestures
In sign language
Wat it is
Wat it wants
Escapes
Concept for a hero
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SuNBkhBVKGw
When I was a kid my mom brought home a vinyl of Manitas de Plata. When I heard that I knew I wanted to learn to play like that – and so I did – much much later I went to Spain and learned some flamenco and mixed it with what i could to make it sound gypsy…
Acrylics on wood panel door – 2013 (Commissioned by A. Pouwels)
Mark Alexander Fonds 2010, ink and acrylic on wood panel, 36 x 42 cm
