Architects planning castles, palaces and any other grand structures had a constant vision of the whole.
The builders looked at each stone that passed through their hands.
I saw a thick bush vibrating with its own life; impossible to see all those tiny insects that filled it. Only warmth and living energy emanated from it. It was like a living Tinguely machine in its eternal movement, moving yet remaining in the same place.
An unexplained desire to put myself into the collection came to me. I am not an architect, a builder, nor do I stay in the same place, buzzing with energy. So who am I? How to present myself to the world and to myself? Am I a buzzing brain on its mobile stand?
#121 January-February 2011