◻️ 03.08.21
Their names have escaped, but I remember their shapes and how they felt: the one with dragonflies. The one in which, supposedly, someone had drowned. The one full of children wearing bug-eyed goggles.
Is the blank page the opposite of the void? I’ve always felt at ease in shadowed, anonymous spaces—the corners of clubs, parks at night—and I can’t explain why. The feeling of it being too dark for people to see me properly, of being swallowed by an environment. I’ve never been entirely comfortable in spaces where I’m exposed and scrutinized. Perhaps the difference is this: the blank page makes things known, whereas the void is where knowledge doesn't need articulation. It just is.
And yet, the way the afternoon light scatted across this tarpaulin, placing all of its wrinkles on full display, reminded me that as much as I praise disappearance, the world would not be so interesting if it weren't for the fact of it being perceivable.
—P