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The Origins Story

And on the last day on earth there will be no one to question the living.

No one to guide.

The Bearer of own.

The smell of the soil with grains gritting in teeth.

No one to comfort. No one to listen. Solitude of own.




cutting the lines: with the precise, confident movements my hand cuts through the hard paper. smooth surface of the blades against the grain of the grain of the paper…

And so the room went dark. Empty those walls echo the past. The last remaining of the electricity run in the sockets. Quiet was me with only breath releasing the chest. Heart seeking peace. But soul is searching high. Across the see of blue and red it settles anew. Blessed are the thoughts. Whispers of days and nights. Silence has formed and moved the space. Time is not no more. Newness.


the last cut: let the game of the folds form the bigger shapes. bending the paper between my fingers dreaming of bending realities. the safe in discomfort, numbers join…



As the door opened the timeline has changed. For a moment ones from now got absorbed into the ghosts of the past.

The little boy who once disappeared from the home was found again peeking through the passage. The wetness of the night air gave away the scent of the gone... damp mothballs in the cupboard laid in a box of rosary. The fingerprints stained the surface. Polished from the empty prayers.

I picked it up to thrown the burning chain back into the mountains of fire and lust. Song of the birds land. Sound of past repeating itself stuck within the groove. Molten blackness spread uncontrollably favouring scream of unborn.

Humans walked with heads between their legs. Forgotten love erased strokes from canvas undoing masterpieces from history. Train crossed the desert filling eyes with grains of sand, particles of cosmos. Steps...


We carry reflection with us. When we get closer to surface it begins to glow own light.

Story of distorted memory once lived in the real time...

layering textures: the grit of the sand, crackling joints forming paths. white on white on white. all simplified is ready…








Robert:… but I am really not sure what we are doing?

me: I will be painting live mask and you record it making sure all is well behind the camera, using your skills you tell me how it looks and feels, capturing best moments…

R: but I need to know what we are doing? What is the plan?

W: Let’s just go with it, ok? Only thing I can say for sure we have only once chance as I am progressively covering my body with black paint and then use that to stain the white mask…

R: ok….

W: It is a story that needs to happen rather than being planned.

R: …