October 6th 2024
Dear diary,
Today has been a strange day. I woke up with this odd sense of nostalgia, like something significant was bubbling up from my subconscious. It didn’t take long to realize what it was—Brazil. That exhibition I did there, years ago now, but so vivid in my memory. I couldn’t shake the images of those floating sculptures, the mobiles I had hanging from the ceiling, swaying gently as if breathing in unison with the gallery space. Those works, they were about gas—this invisible force we rely on, that powers so much of modern life, yet is also so elusive, uncontrollable. Gas, in a way, became a metaphor for everything that feels intangible but all-encompassing, both fragile and powerful.
And then there was ballet. The movement of dancers, their bodies twisting and stretching, finding grace in the air. I remember how I wanted my pieces to feel like that—how the mobiles had to move with an elegance that mimicked ballet, as if they were performing for the viewer. Those moments when the shapes would shift slightly in the light, casting shadows that danced along the walls. The balance between the rigid structures of the sculptures and the freedom of their motion always felt like a conversation between the delicate control of a dancer and the unpredictable nature of gas.
Today, it almost feels like I’m back there—standing in the middle of that room, watching the sculptures and paintings breathe, feeling the weight of the air around me. It’s strange, how memory works, how it can take you so deep into a moment that it feels more real than the present. I wonder if people who saw that exhibition felt the same way I did. Did they understand the connection between the invisible gas and the graceful ballet? Or did they simply enjoy the dance of the objects?
In any case, it’s one of those days where the past feels closer than usual.