The wind’s breath is timeless - hear its proof that we are more than our airlessness, our divisions and revisions. Make your own blood proud, bless it with absence and lose your mind slowly, slowly, slowly. This is clarity. This is the sound of the grass bending - truer than car fumes, truer than your sadness, truer than your busyness, made by nobody.
Into this space, breathe your dreams. Be unafraid to feel - fear is fabrication, woven like the fabrics this boy wears. Luis is letting go. See him wander, see him stand under skies sighing with their own lightness. See him held in Melanie Buchhave’s threads, caressed by Emilia Staugaard’s lens. He is unafraid to see you.
We all hear the clock ticking. We all watch the days run down the walls. Why let ourselves be walled? Create your own openness. Create the freedom to lie in long grass, singing. The space you occupy is far wider than your own body. The space you occupy is larger than the sphere of your own touch, even. Listen to the wind’s breath defeating time, hear the grass bend, blend your motion to these invitations to dissolution.