Edition 3, lined (3mm aluminum composite board), with box, yellow bag
Books as objects have, above all, many in the dark. The hand that opens the darkness invites the light of the sun and the will, illuminating what was dreamed of, and revealing special pieces of paper and pages in this world. In this regard, a book is also a form of order connected by light.
The order called by light links various things to it. Text and illustrations, maps and photographs, lines, ink stains, paper bumps, stories, history, memories. When a constantly wagging page, like a river surface, reflects off our eyes, our spirit is suddenly weighed down and fluctuates, and we sense the existence of the world beyond the reflection.
Those rising from the depths of the darkness are not reduced to the beautiful whole of the "meaning" of the book until they have the exact distance. It belongs before what is read as the state in which the world is expected and dreamed of in amniotic fluid, or as a time to pray for itself to tie itself in your hands.
If the dwarf of a hand turning a book by the window was a work that created a momentary lovable phenomenon in the darkness of the universe, what we might open could be something else to call a miracle. Absent. In any case, we should not read, but use that time as security for our memories, and the books should be quietly shaking during that time.
