Horizontal, vertical, cascading, loose. Threads that intertwine, connect, open up, rip apart. Often cut off, they reach into nowhere. Pulled in all directions, violent at times, silently accepting a destiny they cannot change. There is beauty, a touch of color, and palpable serenity, breathing gently over fearful grounds, contrasting rawness in all its intensity.
The lines drawn depict the surface of life, as you and I know it. Unseen are the lines of flight into territories that still have to be explored and then acknowledged. Somewhere wrapped inside, a solitary child is creating and destructing images, then trying to piece it all together again, displaying sadness and impotence when nothing seems to fit. But is not that all an illusion? Don’t the pieces get picked up again, somewhere, and start a new pattern with no apparent connection? Disposed of and constantly re-modified, it carries the same meaning however, stretching farther than the confinement of duality. As human beings, we portray the same story over and over again….
Olga de Klein