White Clouds, Blue Sky...

There was a cold a nd dry breeze cutting through the air; the voluptuous forest has disappeared behind sometime ago, may be weeks, may be months… May be years? Now was all arid in front; just dry mineral trying to monopolise the sun’s heat and colour. The breeze sometime turned into a sudden gust lifting the mineral powder and forming volatiles clouds of dust. And yet, there was beauty in that barren landscape!                               I had walked so much! I had come so far to find you, and nothing! Everywhere only the echo answers me. My tears have dried sour on my face and solidified in this icy anguish. Where are you? Don’t you hear my scream? Don’t you know all the piercing pain in my heart? Why are you deft and blind to my yearning? I called you at the turn of every hill, at every sunset; at the awakening of every new day, but you ignore me… Only this dry apathy and indifference penetrating my skin wi...

(1) The dream " I went to look at the swimming pool and saw that the water was black. I thought that perhaps, the reason was the time of the day - it was late in the afternoon, and the tress were unfolding their shadows over the earth. Wanting to be sure, I took some of the water on my caped hand. To my surprise and astonishment, the water was absolutely black. I looked at the surface of the pool again and saw some light reflecting in the blackness, and some air making the thick mass vibrate under that light. The black thing was a 15cm bed of rotten dirt, compacted and floating on the surface of crystal water. Suddenly, I heard from the distance the faulty sound of the filter, explosions and lights... the possibility of fire burning the whole system of filtering. It was obvious that the filter was struggling with such a heavy bed of dirt! I run in despair thinking that the whole motor was going to explode. I reached the handle among sparkling lights and infernal sounds. I...

When change is knocking at the door… Life then was very difficult; feeling strange in a new country, trying to communicate in a new language, struggling to stay on my two feet between my many family struggles. I was making small bags in velvet, embroidered in French braid and coloured stones. That morning, in the Balmain markets, my stuff was looking just stunning! By midday the smell of onions and curries was drifting through the galleries, mixing with the scented incenses and the mossy heaviness of the second hand garments. Everybody around me was busy. There were plenty of people passing by along the corridor, but no one was looking at my bags. By 4pm my face was numbing  a plastic smile, hiding  monsters piling up inside;  monsters of failure, repetition of rejections, the sense of unworthiness, the morbid image of death laughing at me from every fiber of the velvet. Immersed in the darkest night I started packing up. Suddenly this woman was coming along ...