Book (25 x 34.5 x 4 cm)
 

Is this an installation, is it an object? It is, certainly, one of the strangest objects I have seen for long. An illuminated, illuminating book. And yet, as far as I can see (or anyone else, for that matter) a book without words, without text.  A magical object, of enchanting beauty. A fetish? A reminder of - "how books are precious"? I am dumbfounded; I cannot tell - is it this or that? Or still something different. It calls up questions. Should not art transcend pure form, all formalism? But is this formalism? Is there no signifier and no signified? What if beauty itself, "convulsive", surprising beauty, can be subversive? What if the minimalism of this work of art encompasses a sensuality so rich and varied that we cannot stop to look and marvel? Does such marvelling that inspires and touches our sensibility, stultify the intelligence - denying it every "food," leaving aside all that concerns our daily reality, our wretched society? Yes, some say. Yes, maybe a voice inside me whispers, as well. No, another voice sighs. It speaks of what is absent so often in our lives: A presence, a moment that turned and became timeless, all of a sudden. A stillness, a quiet moment so unusual that we begin to sense how much we miss what might be there, in our everyday world. It might be... It can be... If we opt to act. Creatively. Making things new, new and different. And more beautiful, finally.

Book (25 x 34.5 x 4 cm)
 

I have looked again. And magically, in the sunlight, from out of the light captured in the pages of the book, a text has appeared. Protruding carefully, tenderly: the lines of a poem, of poetry... words are... what I see.                                                                                                                            go to Art in Society No. 8