PERMANENT DETENTION
She doesn’t want grow up. Simple. Like me.
An empty place sorrounds her heart. She thinks that the moon is squared and the stars are blue fires.
She is a lonely girl. Simple. Like me.
She thinks her house is under the sea. She wants to come back home.
She lives in a permanent detention.
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LEONID ALEXEEV
Spellbound, cold sweat clings to another side of those cast by the night. Entranced, breathing shadows spin in release as sharp movements, angles and broken lights shatter the room in red and blue. Tamed spirits break free in tribal refrain; faces dyed in a ritualistic call to dream awake and transcend the senses. Like “Art Work”, the manic don’t see with their eyes, but feel through the ache that catches the body in third eye slumber; adrenaline halfway between fire and ice. The world–halfway between demon and angel, some sort of nature’s crazed peace.
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AVEC DES AILES DES POUSSIERE
Intangibles as the last things dreamed before you wake up, when they still lie in memory elusive and fleeting. Martina Giammaria thin down images making them soft and muddled but allowing to imprint figures, dresses and lights neat in your mind.
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