Stare at a leaf. Pick up a stone. A drop of rain hits the car window. The trash on the roadside might be a cigarette butt.
Our attention shifts from the material we're constantly exposed to, and suddenly changes the entire system that surrounds you.
There always comes a serendipitous moment: on a particular material, you discover a different semantic code, a message that seems to be completely different from any previous channel. Then, a near-revelation arrives, a message that serves as a small platform, carrying your imagination to a different world of language. In an instant, you leave behind all cultural codes, commercial vehicles, consumer information, the words and sounds on signs, house numbers, and banners, traffic signs, menus, slogans printed on clothing, graffiti, and stickers on the street... Everything either guides or resists, each one centered around similar core values, unfolding different strategies in all directions.
When we put aside the reading and thinking that are purely human, above that, there are the textures of the leaves, the angle of light projected on any object, and the interactive relationship they produce, telling the relationship between climbing curved surfaces, touching time and temperature.
At this point, our attention returns to the material, and we gradually find that we are fully capable of realizing that beyond life, there is another layer of different life, located on the surface, a layer of coating, which is about texture, about traces of bites, and a shallow path forward.
Insects have no concept of home or furniture, only habitat. Their bodies are contained by the dimensions of the room, but our consciousness should also have a place where it can live. Its footsteps are light and slender, able to fall into the gaps that insects can climb, and in the many holes, it searches for a resting moment that is similar to sleep. It gently hooks, turns over, turns into liquid, and temporarily fills the tiny holes until the body moves again.