To Produce for Hope I last saw this piece on June 8 th, 2005, when I left it in the Het Ulenest sculpture garden in Holland , on display where it was produced. As I left it behind, it stood on a rickety pedestal, on an edge, waiting to take the plunge into the canal, very much as the yellow lilies of those waters, that inspired the form.
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Post Script: Justice, a concept applicable only to beings that are human, as if I do not want for it.
Times at a stand still
The boots I collect from their resting places, restless landscapes, agitated by memory, in all its forms, primordial, transient and eternal . (A landscape is of childhood, joy, and death). (A landscape is of filigree, pierced by boots and their cortèges, their necessary entourage).
I pack them, mummified, ageless, metamorphic, and (forever at their own ends, collective and singular). I pack them in a supposed final shape. Supposition is expression, (is a playhouse, we the puppets). {(here in Diyarbakir maybe the children will succeed in brining them back into a pre expression final innocence, maybe they will be able to propel them into the possibility of a different past).[When an idea shifts meaning in mid interaction, an interaction born from the idea itself, does the domino effect the idea initiated shift movement paths. Can that domino effect change outcomes in mid process]}?
I look into words… sound… resonance… the shifty shadow of thoughts… The way an idea acquires new meanings… layers of interaction… of utterances, of readings, of monologues and dialogues…. (Ideas are sometimes ghosts, sometimes poems, and at times, the distant echo of a misremembered cord) (Ideas are frozen still for eternities, agony of never possibilities). Matter of boots, I bring together. Together I dismember, and do not rest. (Maybe rest is decay, maybe forgetfulness). (Maybe rest is but intermission in this playhouse of puppets).
The puppets are instable monuments, cheering on, jeering, and pulling forward, always pulling forward to some other destination and (Always pulling forward to the same destination). The monument travels in fast and slow means, but it travels, (a rootless monument). No final resting place, monuments made of disposable materials (as if there remains anything that is not disposable) , fixable materials (as if there remains anything that is fixable) , materials that can expand tragically into space and then collapse upon the whim of a calendar; (adding meaning to the rotation of time) , as if time has reached a stand still.
It is as if time has not reached a stand still
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