looking for
i’ve focused on shape
i’d consider it as an outline. outlines carry weight in the seeing of things in the world.
this was noticed with an increase of interest in poses, poses would re-appear. my body would return to known, i would think ‘ah what is this shape’. what do you think of calling a body, a shape?
what do you think of calling yourself, form?
i hope you do not interpret this as a derogatory question, do you call your body as you call a body of water?
it is sometimes ok to be clear.
i have started this search through questioning shape, and i have my body to reference. out of sometimes pure
teimosia.
stubborness
but i only have one pair of eyes.
bodies make shapes.
i traced the shapes on the notebook, the shape of the clothing i wore. my body was a negative with the environment.
and i play around with it, as my body lost its weight. it is fun to play with shapes.
the body is as a piece of paper is.
i look at it as a reduction so i am only fooling this paper thing.
but this gives me space to see myself as form, negative and a positive one, as a closed line nonetheless. i’d like to be undifferentiated as an open one.
so i leaned on how to have a form is to have a body. the paper is a body.
fabric is as well,
i looked for form but form is accompanied.
and a motionless body doesn’t sound so good.
but i managed to turn it into stone, the fabric gave it breath.
transferred from paper to cloth, i did this to some built and chewed already
body of mine.
chewchewchew
eu masco-me
eu como-me como uma goma,
i chew myself/ i eat myself like gum
so then i wanted to make my form into a body of its own, it borrows from mine,
i trace my leg with fabric, and staple it as to sew it. our skin is familiar to that of a pillow, we stuff ourselves
and my leg is now an object, it furthered itself. stands away from me as my own does.´, something a drawn outline does in dreams
but i still play, bend it like i can’t. when in space, one shape is many. it is not my leg anymore i must remember, it is also chewed, if not more.
eu como-me como uma goma e faço-a contornar-me,
i eat myself like gum and make it contour me
as a cocoon built so i’d know where to live,
it is inhabitable
and i remember louise, my friend. she comes in thoughts,
legs for days,
i hope i get to keep them afterwards.
first person perspective of unseeable volume,
sounds a religious sentence.
let me bear one of yours so i step away and see as i am.
a selfish one for christianity
i try drawing what i sense,
i sense odd proportionality, i sense the edge of my back, unseeable,
i see it as i sense it bigger. volume is a tricky thing to have an idea of when you go from touch. my legs are no point of reference if i am blind.
ah the internal world remains far, as i created images ah.
there is no world to show, i’ll tell it as it is,
the outlines give me so
but if you wish to see me, do not look here
as i have lied
tracing myself, i trace you as well.
do you see you as you see me?
i trace myself so i touch what touches me and hope some clarity,
delusional as it may,