BODY JOURNAL #1
I love Dante and Homer, and I write in body language that very few know how to read. I arrived from afar and my matriarchal roots immediately sought the nest.
I am a seeker of truths and find them buried in the body. Very often they metamorphose into hoards. I listen to the bodies and their texture with my hands and eyes which form a very precise perceptual system.
I became a midwife to these people, meeting them for the first time and sharing the feeling of mothers when they hold their babies in their arms. An atypical role in the world, where the body breathes less and less and no longer lives. Where people store the experiences of others in an infinite alienation, where if you want to survive, you have to wear a mask. Iar eu, moașă în primul rând a propriei mele ființe, mă hrănesc din creativitate și artă. That’s why I dance.
Now I’m going to invent a language, after eating it for months.
I had to listen, feel my breath changing the position of my bones, when I made the first sounds from my belly, from my intestines. Those sounds still vibrated through me and were then picked up and carried further than I would have expected. Only then does that part of me calm down, which everyone talks about, but which is the last to be listened to.
You can name it whatever you want.