CREATIONS OF A TURBULENT MIND

The use of old used objects is fundamentally important to me.

Found by chance, in secondhand markets, retrieved from the rubbish, given up by people who wanted to get rid of them.

Born inanimate, nevertheless with use and time they have conquered a life of their own and a past worth of being told.

Passed from hand to hand, from house to house, from one place to another, they have gained the smell of life.

A smell that smells unknown. 

Something unknown which we don’t know about but which we can only imagine.

Things which are things no more but which have become stories.

Many objects, many tales.

Fused together to tell further tales.

So many as the eyes of those about to observe them will be able and willing to read them.

I love to tell about human imperfection.

Fix it in stolen shots and fleeting words convinced that its perfection is right there.

Hidden among the wounds of its defects.

I rebel in a world that takes all too equal and I stop to admire and celebrate what is not the same.

To nothing and nobody.