The
snow
gave
an
impression
of
equivalence.
We
seemed
to
pour
out
of
it
like
a
reverse
drain
as
if
there
was
a
hubub
of
riotous
colour
just
the
other
side
of
that
white
fold.
We
got
squeezed
out
so
that
we
landed
with
a
plop
on
this
side
to
become
cushioned
and
partically
submerged
in
the
blinding
bathe
of
this
yeilding
mass.
It
was
bright
and
scorched
the
eye
so
that
we
were
drawn
as
if
towards
a
source
of
darkened
physical
heat
into
the
shelter
of
one
another.
Every
coloured
shape
aportioned
a
place
became
a
calling,
a
beckoning.
It
was
not
a
threat
but
a
relief
even
in
the
shrill
of
voices
now
peeling
out
in
the
blanket
silence
of
that
day.
=> info | Construct a last
Exhibition: The Last Performance [dot org] @ Haus Der Kulturen Der Welt