Un nosaltres impersonal l


Publication of my fashion collection Un nosaltres impersonal, September 2015. Re-edited in english in May 2016.

Creative and art direction by Edu Piracés and Cristina Vila. Photography by Carlos Jiménez. Text by Oriol Ocaña.

An impersonal us. The distance between us. I feel the skin on the sole of my foot mixing in with grains of dirt, the fine sand, microscopic drops of water. The air like ice, but transparent and ethereal. I travel through it. The dog’s barks also travel through me. The singing of a bird distracted by the glow of a street light travels through me. All around, a thousand tiny creatures, or maybe dust, or maybe nothing. I look at the clouds, they are more evidence. I throw a stone into the water of looking for more evidence. The sound from the speakers blows the candle out. The vibrating of the strings activates the pick-ups on the guitar. I’ve injured my hand. I don’t have any nails left. Through the window, the wind moves a half-dry branch. It’s late and the noise from a bus makes everything vibrate; the windows in the room look like they’re about to break. But once again I hear the motor and, through the curtain, the bustle of the people getting off reaches me. I look again, you’re still there. The cat looks at us and jumps up onto us, passing his head softly between our legs; he meows at us and bites us. He sees the distracted birds and chases them over the pebbles that were once a rock. They don’t want to go back to being a rock, or maybe they do. Drops of water fall from the tap, the same and different. Millions go down the drain, no one knows where to. I get closer to you, scared of falling. There’s a strange hole, but I don’t see it. But you’re standing there, with your feet mixing with the earth, the sand, the water. It’s because I can’t see it that I’m scared of the hole. Because it might not be there. You look at me through the invisible ice. Where are now those long hands that were able to take everything apart? The dogs are still barking and the birds are still distracted. Your fingers and your hair. The tear and the eye. My mother and I. The wound and the skin. The shadow.  An impersonal us. – Words by Oriol Ocaña.

Another related post here and here.

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Featured at issue 03 of Terra Firma Magazine on the printed and online edition.