I see now that all of those small things, small actions which were habits before, with their loss become a sign. A sign of a place that they inhabited, were part of. By making images, I try to keep frames which are peripheral for now, but I know, I can feel that with their loss they will become significant. Then when they begin to disappear the conscience about them will be made by me. And then the place and the time are somehow making sense and become my world. I don't know how to make a distance, distance from the things that belong to another time, another space. From the present, absences fill with their memories. I just want to be there, I don't know why, don't I remember those remembrances, those tiny details that seem to be disappearing, becoming fantasia. I don't know how to deal with two lives, with fragments, smells, sounds, colors of absences, fantasies about everything that is lost. I don't know that I don't want to know that what was gone is gone. Once upon a time when I was displaced far enough from my reality, I got an opportunity to recreate my story, my life, to present myself whatever I like, to lie unscrupulously about me and the place from where Iíve been coming.
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