GROUNDED FROM THE GAZE

 
 
 

            From the look and touch.
            That's why my body writes
in the landscape these grooves
that are nothing but traces
of yesterday,
that with the displacement they were
not there.

Imprints that my body remembered.
            And it brought them
to a new mountain,
a mountain that came out
of a bag
and fell to the ground with
my impulse.

            And forged by the strength
            of bones and skin
            now it's mimesis,
is the mimetic desire of that
other landscape
that yesterday it looked at me closely,
when I was an object and it held me.

 

From the contemplation of the landscape to the recognition of the earth and the rock. From the gaze emerges the experience of inhabiting, of focusing, feeling, pressing. Ground becomes here the frame and the limit of the image that is observed, it is the line that separates the visible from the invisible. The horizon line and its absence.

I want to know the landscape through the eyes and the body. Through the memory of the image and the retentiveness of touch. The discomfort of the nude over nature, from being an observer to an observed one, from being a subject that observes to being an observed object. And the landscape as a subject because it holds my body, and I am the object being held. The ritual of the body approaching the floor, with the knees, with the palms of the hands, the forehead, the insteps, the soles of the feet, the thighs, the ribs, the gaps that remain from the pressure of the skin in the earth, the mark that leaves the earth in the bones of pressure.

Aida Sierra