The landscape empties but remains full in its own space. In its immensity time has also stopped. Being inside the landscape is like having existed for a very long time, as nooteboom tells us. The room’s pavement is dark and waxed. The edges of each floorboard define parallel lines. It’s dark in here. I can’t see properly anymore. The gaze scarcely focuses the furniture in this twilight. I mumble an alphabet of forms.
Portuguese contemporary artist
Pedro Calapez
