Number 9

This is weird. After I wrote the last post, I had no idea this one will sort of follow with similar numbers. My faithful 3,62 readers know about my polyptych, composed of eight paintings depicting a mesh of letters painted over meaningless text. After almost two years I painted the ninth painting I never planned. It felt strange, like returning to the scene of the crime I never committed. I needed some time to remember the blue-green darkness engulfing the medieval manuscripts, leaving only meaningless words in a language that never existed. The feeling came back, although different. The smell of pine sap was unmistakable. If I may paraphrase Mitchell: Number nine comes after every ending. So it does. And now? Is this finally the end?

avmr lv frvr

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Čudno je. Potem, ko sem napisala zadnjo objavo, se mi niti sanjalo ni, da bo naslednja sledila istim številkam. Moji zvesti 3,62 bralci vedo za moj poliptih, sestavljen iz osmih slik, na katerih je preplet črk naslikan preko nesmiselnega besedila. Po skoraj dveh letih, sem naslikala deveto sliko, ki je nikoli nisem načrtovala. Občutek je bil čuden, kot da bi se vrnila na mesto zločina, ki ga nikoli nisem zagrešila. Potrebovala sem čas, da sem se spomnila modro zelene teme, ki požira srednjeveške rokopise in za seboj pušča nesmiselne besede v jeziku, ki nikoli ni obstajal. Občutek se je vrnil, čeprav drugačen. Vonja po borovi smoli se ne da zgrešiti. Če smem parafrazirati Mitchela: Številka devet pride potem, ko se vsaka stvar konča. Tako tudi je. In zdaj? Je to res konec?

avmr lv frvr