ART VILLA GARIKULA (what I see)

I see an ant.

Walking on what may look like a bright pink desert.

Seeking a direction, almost like smelling its forward path it goes sideways, backwards, forward, in uneven waves.

Gradually it reaches the end of the pink table and disappears.

Then after a while the environment changes.

With a breeze that touches my right cheek comes the the rain. Slowly but constant.

I see men by the river.

I do not see them washing their car by running it straight through the river, as they apparently do.

I would love to see that.

What I do see is a white butterfly. Moving in seeking patterns similar to the ant. A dog is passing, stopping and gazing out at the view. It smells the air and then quickly hunts the sound of somebody hitting a bucket.

Now the sun is back.

I must have been gone for a while. I guess I wasn’t paying attention.

When I look up I see green hills with a shape like this (arm moving)

Out in the field everything is open.

The ground is warm. The grass is about 15 cm high.

When I look down into the field I discover its richness. Insects of various kind and sizes, the names of which I don’t know.

Rocks of various kinds, none that look the same.

An ocean of ants crawling on a muddy hill, a little yet gigantic hill.

Green grass of various sorts.

I really shouldn’t be placing my feet on this ground.

Now I need the toilet.

I am back.

Dear field of grass.

How I respect you. How I cherish you. But still I must admit, I don’t know you anymore.

You have secrets that to me becomes fantasies. Fantasies that scare me.

I hear a “hussing” sound.

I move away and then I think: A snake? My thought was slower than my reaction.

And my writing takes more than a lifetime.

I see a computer.

I see my self standing in an open field of grass with a computer. I see myself writing about what I see.

I hear the sound of a bee traveling so I turn around. Now I see the sun behind the clouds.

I press save.

I worship this present moment and do not want it to go away.

I stop.

I think.

What do I see?

I see Georgia.

Desert mountains close by. Snow on top of the distance mountains.

Layers and of mountains in all directions.

No, not everywhere.

Somewhere I only see treetops melting with white clouds.

The clouds have cotton shapes and I don’t know what’s behind.

More mountains?

The wind is both occasionally and constant.

It has no nationality.

I wonder where it has been, where it started, where it will end.

I see a butterfly. A beautiful cliche.

It could cross boarders if it wanted to. So could I. Not everyone can do that.

Break.

I hear a lot I do not see.

Some ducks. Birds pretty much in every direction. An occational car. Some occational dogs.

Am I on the internet?

I see a bed with a white sheet blowing in the wind.

An old rusty bed with metal decorations. Old. Nice. It is a single bed. I walk towards the bed.

I see an old chewing gum.

I see a paper cup.

I see somebody walking up in the desert mountains.

I think it is some cows.

I lay down. Will I fall? No, it’s ok.

Now I have sun on my face.

“Hello, you fool, I love you”, not a Rednex, but a Roxette song pops into my mind.

Now the time is 1027 in Norway,

1127,

1228 in Georgia.