Updated: Oct 12, 2020
Like stepping into an impressionist painting, or videclip filled of visual textures I can even feel in my skin, we drive into the unknown, a place whose limits are blurred by the finger of an immense and dense nothingness.
The sound of the engine becomes part of the silence that surrounds us, a silence that becomes equally immense, heavy, overwhelming...
All senses dissolve into that nothingness we are stepping in, into the thick mysterious veil in which a weekend trip becomes a disposession of ourselves, surrounded by nothingness in our way to nowhere.
Eyes filled with the milky texture of a world extinguishing, muffled sounds like listening through cotton balls, hands that don't know how to touch anymore...It would be so easy to disappear...to become all shades of white, to fill our insides with clouds and revered silence.