At Dusk
Four houses. Different cities, light and smell. Apparently they’re not connected. But the same erosion, a delicate disintegration of life, swarms the four of them. In fact, it is buzzing in every home, in every person. We’re constantly moving towards an end. Between the beginning and the end - which of course are also relative concepts, there are lots of vivid moments, which seem to flatten at once when the particular time period ends.
I'm trying to understand this disintegration. How almost all objects stand against time, how an absent presence still exists. Whether through my past - the struggle to remember things objectively or devotion to a subjective narrative, which can also become imaginary, or through the people around me and the memories that surround them.
I'm trying to understand this disintegration. How almost all objects stand against time, how an absent presence still exists. Whether through my past - the struggle to remember things objectively or devotion to a subjective narrative, which can also become imaginary, or through the people around me and the memories that surround them.