This could be anywhere

When I stepped back in Montreal there was a feeling of comfort. The fulfilment and excitement that arouses when we finish a task, a mission we were not sure how long would least but it was finally done and we are  finally coming back home.

Unbeknownst for most and myself there was also an anew feeling, as if all was the same but not, a book you remember very well but now the narrative is a movie sort of feeling, do you know what I mean? If not, try reading Game of Thrones and watching the series. You will understand that although is the same story the story isn’t the same and so far we can not say for sure that they will both end the same way.

But back to coming back to Montreal… It felt old and usual but with some missing characters and suddenly all was different, I was in some other story that wasn’t mine or that I was unaware I had to write (or rewrite). On the midst of all those feelings it seemed to me that Montreal could be anywhere, the streets were the same but the people on it made it look like and feel like anywhere. Maybe a dystopia, maybe just a resemblance with some other part of the world, regardless! I wasn’t home anymore.

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Diane Arbus/The Estate of Diane Arbus LLC. 

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The Displacement – Part II

“You will walk differently alone, dear, through a thicker atmosphere, forcing your way through the shadows of chairs, through the dripping smoke of the funnels. You will feel your own reflection sliding along the eyes of those who look at you. You are no longer insulated; but I suppose you must touch life in order to spring from it.”
― Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is the night.

Sailing on Whitsundays, photo by Poshdrosofila Thibault

Sailing on Whitsundays, photo by Poshdrosofila Thibault

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The Promised Land of Michael Parekowhai – Space and the Construction of Memory

Almost a month ago GOMA was opening a great exhibition on Michael Parekowhai’s more than 20 years of work – from photography to sculptures. As I wandered and wondered into the the alleys created on GOMA for this exposition I couldn’t stop but think about Walter Benjamin and his writings on the construction of memory. I guessed (and somehow hoped) that Michael had read Benjamin when working on his pieces.

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