The words, like a chain of links made of glass running across the horizon like tracks from a tank pressed into the dirt.
Beyond the words, behind the machines, the factories, the shopping malls—
The space between the notes of a song, between the trees in the forest—
The container of all opposites.
The story is constructed out of clay and presented in stop-motion animation.
Playing out on the screen of our mind, we are both the main character and the critic.
What is this condition we are in? How can it be real?
The main character and the critic at the same time?
It must be overlayed on top of reality.
See-thru fabric, semi-porous in nature—
What fills the spaces?
Thoughts and neurons in rapid fire—
Upheld by the juice of existence,
The mother battery of life,
The blank canvas before the first stroke of paint has been laid.
The door is open,
Through the gate of eternity,
I return to my motherland.
© Mike Sasaki 2019
Thank you for reading this post from Behind The Wood Forms.
See the sculptures at: mikesasakiwoodforms.etsy.com
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| Root of Time No. 3 - 2019 - Mike Sasaki |
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