Only the Mistakes Belong to Us
This tree keeps falling over. I prop it up,
it falls again. And the rain falls
day after day like a broken wet record.
Here are the birds—tiny, smaller
than birds. And like fresh butcher’s
paper, the light so bright it hurts.
So the birds are paper and so is the sky.
It will be easiest if I draw you a picture,
each of us a different shade of gray.
What goes right is an accident. It can’t
be blamed on us. What goes wrong
is almost impossible to see. How quickly
it disappears, like someone’s hand
into someone else’s pocket.
Jorge Luis Borges
#only the mistakes belong to us
#jorge luise borges
I sit here
on the perfect end
of a star,
pour itself toward
The light pours
a small hole
in the sky.
I’m not very happy,
but I can see
how things are
Time is, of course, doing its steady work on every object ever made. This complex relationship between the maker, an emotionally invested object, and the growing distance between them is not new, only rediscovered each generation, whether by an artist, a mourner, a mother, or a soldier…
We let go with the hope others will grab hold. These objects ask very human, moral questions: What right do we have to forget? What do we owe to each other’s memories?
"After the earth dies, some 5 billion years from now, after it’s burned to a crisp, or even swallowed by the Sun, there will be other worlds and stars and galaxies coming into being - and they will know nothing of a place once called Earth."
#black sea of concrete
Black Sea of Concrete
"Everything is colorful here. And more precisely, two-colored, blue and yellow, the national colors of Ukraine in different shades and variations. A paradise for an artist seeking an inspiration in abstraction. Fisherman cottages, ice cream stands or summer datchas resembling bunkers. Fancifulness of concrete slabs’ arrangements as if borrowed from constructive sculptures. The installation goes on and on for miles. People live there in high season. Slightly closer to the center grey concrete slabs are thrown in disarray. Another paradise, this one for anglers, because the breakwater cuts several dozen meters into the water. A regular murmur of the sea hovers over it. Despite all this cacophony and mismatch you can feel calm at the shore. Irrational calm. Apparently, not the place itself matters, but the purpose for which people come here. They want to spend a few moments with nature. All attempts by humans to take the sea coast are grotesque and inadequate. Even the ugliness takes on a fascinating dimension. At the same time you feel longing for things that have gone away. For a state, once powerful with all its concrete, which used to tell you how to live. For something that was clear, transparent and comprehensible. It is now gone. People feel confused and tired of continuous changes. Youths are tired too. Actually it would be good if Eastern Ukraine rejoined Russia—say Andriej and Sasha carelessly. Both are twenty-something. They play snooker, drink beer from cans. In the old communist times there was no canned beer."
-photos and words by Rafal Milach