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Slow invasion Slow Revelation

A special edition art book created by six artists in collaboration with Múltiplos (Barcelona).

 

For this work Katerina drew inspiration from the contributions of the other artists involved in the project. Katerina wrote five stories, each sparked by the works produced by one of her fellow artist-collaborators.
 

 

 

A canoe is mоving through the water making its way between underbrush and water lilies. There is a little girl in the boat. She is paddling. There is another figure sitting in the front of the boat. The figure is the same size as the girl but it doesn’t seem like a child. Yes, if you look closer you can see that it’s a big marmot dressed in a hoodie. They are talking very quitely so we can’t hear them. Only some splashes of water under the paddles. They move further. The boat is passing through water lilies leaving a trace behind. After quite a while it starts snowing. The snowflakes are huge, maybe the size of a flower. They fall so slowly that it seems that they don’t move at all but float in the air. Slowly the snow covers everything that we see. Now it’s all painted white. In the whiteness we can hear that the little girl is laughing and the sound of her laugh is hovering in the fog.

 

• • •

 

 

 

The fog is a weather condition that makes me feel week and vulnerable. Some people love it but it scares me.

So I am in my bed and I’m trying to hide myself inside the white sheets and the thick blanket. My feet are cold. And my eyes are open. I’m stretching and curling up. I think about last night. I remember how we met, how we walked side by side, touching each others hands. I remember the light in the place we ate sitting in front of each other at a small table. We were eating oysters and drinking white wine. I felt the sensual flesh of the oysters with my tongue, I sipped the giggling wine and I looked in the brown eyes in front of me and I laughed and I felt I had a bond with someone.

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

Someone is knitting a blue shawl. The thread is whispering while moving through an old lady’s fingers. It’s the same colour as the sky usually is at dawn in autumn. This is my favourite colour. When I was fourteen I wanted to have a jacket, a leather jacket the colour of the sky in October. The real reason I wanted it was because I was in love with a boy. He was a year older than me. He was the one that all the girls from school were in love with. And he wore a leather jacket. And he had blue eyes the colour of the October skies. I dreamt of us standing on a street and kissing. Though it never happened in reality. I can still remember how he looked at me. But I never saw him again. He disappeared. Until one day I read about a healer in Bali and look at his photo and see the blue eyes that remind me of the sky, the dreams, the time when everything seems possible and right.

 

 

• • •

 

 

 

Right behind me I see the ocean. The ocean is huge and wide. I’m sitting in a car. We are parked on the edge of a high cliff. Behind me there are thousands of kilometres that I drove. I saw mountains and forests, and then yellow fields, endless yellow fields. Next to me a woman is sitting. There is something about her that made me leave everything behind. I risked my life, I am risking my future and the feelings of the ones I love. And I’m doing that to spend three days with this woman. And from the outside it seems that we are just a couple of tourists that came here to spend the summer.

 

• • •

 

 

 

This summer we are staying in a very old house. The terrace has a sea view but the old mandarin tree covers most of it. The tree is really big with branches that remind of an old man's hands. Citrus trees are normally smaller but this is a giant tree. Its fruits are like fire balls, they hang all over the tree. Mandarins are falling and they break as they hit the ground. This makes the whole garden and the terrace and even the people that live in the house smell of mandarins. The smell marks the people of the house with the joyful scent of mandarins. If you go inside the house there is a smell of naphthalene. Because it’s a very, very old house. With a long past. It sighs. And it breathes. And sometimes it smiles.

 

• • •