My breath works as a spotlight and as a visual sign. Where the window covers with vapours, words can be seen and read. Letter by letter, like children do, because these are not regular words, but words which apparently have no meaning. Or, better put, they don t have a certain meaning for everybody, only for some small, intimate groups – they are words invented by children which have been collected during an on-going project. The adults either remembered they invented these words as children or they shared with me words invented by their own children.
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I have learned to read, thus I became a ”victim” of written ubiquotus messages. Independent of my will, I automatically decode the written commercials, the labels, the flyers that I am handed down at the metro. A linguistic vortex, the understanding of which I cannot escape.
Writing in typographic letters words that might mean something, but which we cannot understand, represents a pause from this informational stream. How relaxing it must be to only look at the letters as looking at some drawings without understanding anything behind them. Getting back to the syllabifying of children – an asemic therapy for overcrowded minds.
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Words leave the body together with the breath. The window can be a huge TV screen where incomprehensible information is broadcasted, but instead of sound there is a silent closeness between artist and public. The artist breathes, making visible the words when a viewer comes closer to a specific area of the glass. Breathing becomes a visual sign and the element that supports the public-artist dynamic.
