Description
ailleurs. 1/1
framed in an antique frame*.
print 18x24cm
fine-art inkjet print on vat paper
(hahnemühle/albrecht dürer 210gsm)
this work is part of my 2024 collage series málve & vernis.
*frame might differ from shown frame, as each edition is framed unique.
for more information don’t hesitate to write me a message.
about the málve & vernis series.
there is a little light in the room i set up for you. what does it mean to unveil what reposed in a box
until time dissolves & recomposes it to an other. this is a trial to leave the niche within 17. figures.
the however grew up when the us evaporated in an end & found itself as oneself. málves no where
ends in tales & projection – where the toothbrush sleeps secluded in the glas & the i sews zigzag
shadowedges while hunted by a self.
where to go when this everyday self dresses up in obscure. skull moths are kite flying in interlines,
hanging inbetween & on a way to light. bounded to fragile filaments of dreams & trauma. with no words
we speak about the same, without even & odd knowing what it means for a vis-à-vis. subconscious.
that means nothing to me. you say nothing more.
your tale steaming up the pale blue mirror twining around striped horses on the run.
stiched off fears fringing the tiny hare sleeping beneath her ribs. he can not find the point.
i take a patch & wait if the kid & the fear beneath dissapears.
which row is the right for amissed ones. what is it now? a pattern, enmeshing, unstitching,
helical ups & downs. lost messages by an oversight, words not to be said, anyway never been spoken.
a liason of unwritten words on rosas pina pain. just paper. enveloped in daydreams. málve awakened,
millefleur chemise of a night, envelope of memories, casket with a ship, sails set. a typewrite, letters,
every thing turned to be so small.
as if this one us would & should have ever been written in capitals. it does not have to be loud
if it carries meaning & truth within. soft brise, nightly butterflies & heavy coated dark circled eyes
take a glance at light. stolen flowers drying in match boxes. string & corduroy vernis speaks through
flowers & opens the window in the tree house. no where, where above & below are tangled in pure mess.
gauged & without measure. he applies coats of paint in málves delight, strolling as shadow & padding
in the last layer. chess mate inbetween varnish*. should carry it all. no clear-cut. she was never in the picture.
just cinnamon & blood. one hand is holding still, while past falls off in memorandum. it is just tiny tales,
scars & rays of hope escalating & outweighing, until you capture them in artworks, frames & arrange.
time & this everything.
it does not have to be meaningful for you. if you see vernis, say hello. i left the little light on for him.
málve is blooming in the garden. still life. if i watch him from now & forever, while he is watching the tree
from the window place – i am almost there – where no where ends.
*varnish. ’…the film-forming substances in varnishes either harden directly, as soon as the solvent
has fully evaporated, or harden after evaporation of the solvent through curing processes…‘
