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Approach the tree, in it you will find its leaves; its flower and its fruit: a tangerine.


Get closer to the tree, get inside it with your head and your body, see how you find yourself becoming a leaf, a flower and a fruit in the garden, in an open space with rocking chairs. On the ground there are tangerines that have fallen because the tip of the branch that supports the fruit has dried up. PLUCK! If it hasn't fallen, you can shake the tree very gently, as if the wind did it, carefully. You look, touch and move with the fruit in your hand. You hold a tangerine, sit in the rocking chair and sway. That tangerine moves in the palm of your hand to the rhythm you both  share. In your hand you feel that sphere become a line and then return back to a sphere; a drawing. The heat of the fire is close, you feel it and you let it warm you and those who are there, you look at your surroundings, breathe, sit, walk, look, and move.


Approach the tree. You remember your bed, you look at that bed as a tree from which you became a fruit. You smell yourself, lick yourself and feel the citric flavor, that sweetness. Your bed is soft, it is a refuge. A mountain, a slope, your body, a side of it , one side of your body-mountain. A room, which is inhabited by memories, atmospheres, frozen time, moving images, shared dreams, shared matter. From your bed the tangerines fall from the trees, the trees that breathe, move and share. The tangerines fall, reminiscent of the movement of the tree and how from the tip of its dry branch they fall to the ground with a PLUC! Tangerines fall from the bed into the room.


Approach the tree, an archive: a space for consultation of what is being articulated, a space to move the harvest of elapsed time. You sit by the fire near the table and they appear: images, memories, texts, drawings in motion, everything in motion. How is it drawn? How to draw well or how to draw horrible and ugly? That's what drawing horrible and ugly is all about. But in that horror there is tenderness, because those drawings are soft and horrible, and they also hide something; that they are vulnerable and fragile, but also dangerous. They are lethal, yes, do you remember the danger of entering? Do you remember the danger of taking a risk? The danger of giving it your all and getting lost there? Those dreamlike drawings that fly away when you wake up. That's why there is a notebook, drawing-writing when I wake up. To hold them on paper.


In this space, people cook over low heat, articulate with time, breathe, have patience, trust, share, talk, follow.

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