You know, some of my stuff I left in Attila's car, and he took it back to Hungary, when he came home in August. It was two boxes and my big luggage. He delivered it to me, when he came to my party in September.
When I opened it, and I saw the stuff arranged exactly the same way, how I did it in a big hurry on the last day of the day school in May, I felt some nostalgia. Suddenly I remembered my room in Denmark, the atmosphere of the books and tiny things on the shelf above my bed, the clothes hanging in my cupboard.
The Madlaine biscuit effect. (In Proust's novel about lost time, when he bites a biscuit, and suddenly remembers his grandmother's place in his childhood - where he used to eat these biscuits.)
Szabi came up with a version of the video about our summer workshop. And the video about the performance is also almost finnished.
A lot if things changed since this summertime aswell, I sense, and I sensed even stronger watching these shootings.
The perpetual escaping of time is heavy, althought it is it's lightness, it's immateriality which makes different times disappear so fast.
When I opened it, and I saw the stuff arranged exactly the same way, how I did it in a big hurry on the last day of the day school in May, I felt some nostalgia. Suddenly I remembered my room in Denmark, the atmosphere of the books and tiny things on the shelf above my bed, the clothes hanging in my cupboard.
The Madlaine biscuit effect. (In Proust's novel about lost time, when he bites a biscuit, and suddenly remembers his grandmother's place in his childhood - where he used to eat these biscuits.)
Szabi came up with a version of the video about our summer workshop. And the video about the performance is also almost finnished.
A lot if things changed since this summertime aswell, I sense, and I sensed even stronger watching these shootings.
The perpetual escaping of time is heavy, althought it is it's lightness, it's immateriality which makes different times disappear so fast.
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