Micachu
● Photography
Micachu And The Shapes portraits commissioned by Crack Magazine, 2015
15.08.2020 / 15.05.2021How to explain the cosmic violence of creation?
The fear of impossibility despite the certitude that tomorrow everything will be over, or rather beginning.
The no return.
The force.
The wildness.
The unconditional.
The extension.
Instinct.
Shamelessness.
The loss of control. To the point of not recognising my own voice, my own screams.
Water.
The energy released in the air, brutally.
Water.
The choice of consenting agony with the intention to surrender to the natural flow of a process that I undervalued. Refusing what could interfere between us, or on my freedom to move, to feel, convinced that our body is designed to do so.
Blood.
I wanted to touch
I wanted to see
I wanted to experience with my own guts that transcendental instant masked by action but, really, so close to death. Did I survived? And you?
Could you hear?Ironically. After months spent into the womb, after I’ve been whispering you mantras and words of love, after talking softly and honouring the sacred silence… I welcomed you with endless terrifying sounds.
Like if I wanted to let you know from the start how it is pointless to paraphrase and how tremendously intense it is to come to this world, to be.Did you get scared?I remember telling you, before you were born, to help me during the descent, to do not be frightened, to go through the dark channel knowing that outside there was me waiting. Fast. I was praying, I was anticipating.
Instead you didn’t seem keen to show up that quickly.Or maybe. was it me the one fearing?Or maybe. was it the two of us playing for time?Me, embracing the mystery of becoming a mother, you of separating.
