Blindfolded I started in clay. Searching for the feeling of her skin, the shape of her face, the wave of lingering hair, the soft curve of her cheek: all so nearby in the sensitivity of my fingertips and so far away with eyes wideopen. The border of life and death in a split second.
Never known that feeling of total loss and emptyness.
Where are you, my love: "Wiegend in de wind?" (Cradling in the wind?)
Wind blows as long as I live, even longer.
There will come a time that nobody remembers a person by name and history. But even then, love is decisive as a mutual human concept. The remaining image is not about a realistic picture. That moment of recognizing and understanding vaporizes in an instant at the borderline of life or death.
"Kokoro"
The image of death should tell a story about life itself.
