Flashing lights. When silence becomes unbearable because it enhances the sound sensation, I woke up, not without difficulties, in these open valleys with a free airflow which are sufficiently sheltered from strong west and north winds.
Blinded by a dazzling sun, I carry my hands near to my eyes, then close them to darken this bright light. I open them again. The ground, strewn with blue gentians which descend several meters is breathtaking. ‘- Is it real?’ I try, with some delicacy, to pick one of them to smell the exquisite elixir of its perfume.
Love. I remember this feeling; to love and to be loved. Also, the one who drives us to transcend ourselves through desire. Sweet passion: intense and pure, floating in an air balloon filled with a transparent liquid. Then, everything suddenly vanishes.
I repeat myself again. ‘- Everything suddenly vanishes.’ And I said ‘- Hello darkness, my old threat’. The stab wounds is like a reminder that love’s dart. ‘- Why does it torment?’
This long path is a duel with our arch-nemesis. Delusive and hurtful. Common to all; at every age, nothing escapes this all-destructive rage.
I choose to pursuit my way from abyss into abyss; ‘- My mind over her dead matter.’
To imbibe the unknown and absorb the power of mystery. Gathering misdeeds and zests. Dull.
Text by Noëmi Merca.
Monia ben Hamouda - Miranda
Curated by PANE Project at Macelleria Antonio Miranda, Milan, March 14 - March 21