My story and yours
still separate, frozen
are starting to melt:
Letters flow away,
sentences gather in puddles…
Our story, one slow current,
trickles into new patterns,
seeps into the ground or evaporates
save for a bit of dust,
and falls down as rain, somewhere.
For the series of photographs “story, written on ice” I wrote on a bloc of ice with Indian ink. I chose two different fragments of German text, one from a family saga by John von Düffel, whose writing usually has to do with water. The other line is from a poem which is better known as the song “The miller’s joy is wandering”. Here are the translations:
Impossible to say, how often I thought of these rivers, how often I dreamt of them, how many nights I was drawn to them, when I was passing through sleeping towns, dry, riverless towns, on the search for water, on the search for the movement of water,(…). My translation from: John von Düffel “Vom Wasser” (On water).
Your frosty smile –
maybe the tip of an iceberg that is melting.
it can only be cool, the invitation
to follow the trace of your mammoth.
After I have been conserving stories in wax I naturally moved to ice. Frozen water immediately starts melting at room temperature – that fits very well to the stories that are also constantly changing their state. Keeping memories frozen must cost a lot of energy!
You can find more pictures of ice cold stories in this flickr-set.