Cerco Gris Sculpture

A merry-go-round, the zero, the circle Imbricated You continue me I am you Now we are in the work: I molded thousands of tiles for both of us (you stop at one in particular, so very small) We are present We escaped the appetite of emptiness I jumped and you jump from one fragment to another. We stopped dealing with the mind. The psyche is something else. It unfolds like a rhizome and weaves its weft. It abandons itself It rests in the maniac expression of the other In the mystery of the othe, it rests from itself Shape, color and shape, color and shape. And more color My resistance as a nutrient. Your look gives it and takes away its meaning. Weakens it and sets it free I space in your matter The contrast is the beat. It is the breath. Our breath of power. Our sensual intimacy Now we drink coffee We tell each other the cuitas* in the kitchen (lots of laughter and shadows and nothing to feign) No fear No end You sublimate me and take me Cuitas: Popular term to speak of afflictions and longings. Of uncertain origin, possibly Nahuatl or Quechua, used in northern Argentina and gradly replicated by Juana´s mother