As in a crystal ball, images arise from nothing. But not to read the future: only appear to mask the transparency the luminous spectra of our encounters in the past. The silhouettes are sketched out: it's up to everyone to project people they know onto them. After the performance is over, water vapor continues to saturate the air. The surfaces are charged in drops which flow. Previously very sharp designs quickly degrade. Then disappear. Only the drops remain on the walls, which have regained their rights and can be assembled at will. The magical, fleeting moment has passed. Everything went back to the water.

Color Metal

The boiling soup works quietly behind. Time stands still, for a moment. It's nice out. Black night and white, ahead; white, slowly, arises and thickens. She cannot clearly distinguish the buildings. Soft forms, a little further on, motionless at first, then pass slowly close to her, light up the pane for a few moments over its entire surface, then disappear into a cold, viscous blackness. Slowly, first in front and then suddenly all over the surface again, another light joins the night, and it is black. A time. Again, full light, then stretches, then nothing. Interval. Time is swept away by the noise of windscreen wipers, which drag and tire. The diffuse halo of a shop window stabilizes. A pause that lengthens and stares at the lights. Time thickens. The red of the fire multiplies and marks the drops with an undecided but precise point. Concentric circles overlap. A drop on the windshield struggles to find its way down, struggling against the force the glass exerts on it. Around: the others, metallic color, try to join. The hair against the glass erases a little and opens onto black. You have to take shelter under a sheet. The rain falls. The weight of the drops is getting harder and harder. It's strange, now you can't see the banks anymore. The water expands. Metallic gray color that thickens on the surface. An insect bounced under the drops. Something on the leaves floating on the surface constantly tires them. Under the leaves unfold the stems of hydrophilic plants - Hydrophilic is said of a plant which is fertilized by pollen transported by water. Underwater, hydrogamous flowers let the rushing current love them. Carried away. The strongest is over. A time. Slowly, then nothing. Drops, precise, flow. The leaves lose their momentum, the water vapor stretches, then settles. finger is a little thicker, like the one she used to do when she was a child, just: her line is less imprecise, too sure, the lines of her face, which she sees in lines in the mirror, her lines are heavier than before. She is sitting in the back. She no longer sees the street, endless, but evanescent apparitions which drift slowly, stretch then suddenly disappear. She puts her finger on the glass, erases a bit to see because she thinks she recognized someone. She sees that she sees nothing, it's dark. A drop marked the spot. The drawer is not easy to open, very wide and he has to step back, tuck his belly in, to make room for him. Inside there are the treasures of the kitchen: rubber bands, corks, utensils with bright red handles which cut and grate, bought at the display, at the market. Lots of toothpicks that have sneaked around and tumbled down. The boiling soup continues to boil. The windows, now white, protect her. She thinks, and finally takes out the corkscrew, a flat knife and a small fork with out of tune teeth. She arranges them on the table, and begins her story.