Len

Vine, vine ...

Vine, vine … primavara iarna

The story started many years ago, as a child I went to a small city in Wales, in autumn. I was cold and rainy and I was unprepared. As such I found very rewarding a second hand ski jacket to warm me. As I came home the white, a bit dirty jacket did not seem so appealing anymore and many years passed with the jacked stacked somewhere in a closet. Until many years ago when R. thought it should be good for it’s original purpose, for some skying lessons. Not for much time but just until a proper jacket was found. So the old jacket ended up as a “fishing” jacket for the cold mornings for R. parents. They washed, prepared it and stacked it. So again, the almost new jacket ended for a few years in a closet. Until a day when someone found it and decided it could be just perfect for something and tried it on. In the process he checked the pocket just to find an old piece of money which was there for the whole time.

So he returned the piece to R parents, who gave it to R the next time she went home and then came to me one day and said: do you remember your old, white jacket?

Twenty pence

Grand Palais

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Do you remember falling in the snow, the moment of letting go, the moment of touch and then the moment of peace? Surrounded by white snow, looking to the sky? Do you remember, as a child feeling the snow or the grass surrounding your body as you where looking at the clouds or the birds? These days we are stiff and cannot let go but I had once again the childhood feeling of floating in the snow as the white flakes gently hold my hole body. The snow can make us fly as a magical hand lifting us, taking us up to the sky. I want to lay floating in the snow.

Floating