Guest
“I cracked open an old wound. An ancient flintstone extracted from a dry plain near a paleolithic village buried in South Moravia. Finding it was like opening some kind of Pandora's box. To move 40 000 years back. Or into the future? Now I return to my home. Here, on the edge of a small town, the ever shifting landscape transforms the past. Only human artifacts are left, scattered across a freshly ploughed field. At first they appear as disturbances. But in time, with the field harvested and left bare, they become sheltering oases filled with moisture. Everything feels weird and confusing. I am a lost fruit fly returning from an adventure, emotionally attached to a morphing image of a place that changes and yet stays the same. And the home I return to is and is not my home anymore. I am a mere inconsistency, an accident. Meanwhile, the clay heap keeps moving, the trees ke
