taking the stone from the street like an ex voto and trophy high above
walking into the house
biting the signal of danger
putting her blouse on my body
your body in my gras
the gras to our lips
our lips to the paper
you and I
inside the closet
of my room
in its darkness
inbetween your shoulder and the wood
not longer knowing what to say
but to feel
Graciela displaces everyday house objects in the living room . then the guests comb her hair . she portrays their feet in their shoes on the sidewalk before entering . in their socks on the wooden floor and barefoot in the night, which had already fallen upon the garden . feet with their wrapped intimacy throughout the whole city during the whole day . entering and leaving innumerable places but never able to escape from their destinies . it has not rain despite the weather forecast . the fresh air is carrying this promise with suspense . some agree to enter the cool shelter in the center of attention of the gathering . skin between earth and sky . body-vessel . faces become softer and shinier . time vanishes and when it reappears is conclusive . during the farewell activity, guests go out to the street to find a leaf that winds have unhinged from the trees . going out and coming back in is the personal and collective grammar of bodies . now lying on the floor they go about blowing their leaf . the leaves gather in the center of the room as a materialized memory . leaves with shapes of lips sing a symphony of possible kisses . Graciela paints every leaf with red and the red paints the kisses of a moment in autumn
while katharinajej takes participants individually to the closet in her private room.
Fecha: 24/04/16 at 6 pm
Concepto: katharinajej y Graciela Ovejero Postigo
“ I liked the proposition, in the way how it reconfigured the „being“ with the „other“, how it opened up the possibilities to experience very special spaces and how it deconstructed the paradigm of connection y no connection…“
„the private room. house performance.
just like a dream. without time. as long as the ideas, cheaters convergent mechanisms still wait for a home to inhabit. everything that is piled up just like in a dream. in our subconsciousness. with no time. dense as a mystery. with no form. no rule no law. a bathroom two skulls some fresh images blurring around. like cats or vases or towels or unicorn skulls. like a dream. with no time. no form. no pain. and in all of a sudden, the dream chooses its vehicle. green grass, teeth, stone, brushes.
and again no ideas, no form no vehicles. dense as a hole as a skull as a brick, a hidden radiant orange brick inside the house. a brick no one can see. a private brick as private as a room.
with two skulls, two universes,
inside a room
inside a house, any house“
„Entering the home
coming apart its wall
kneading all the doors“