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Imagine a sculpture.
A white marble sculpture.
A sculpture of Carrara marble.
A hammer blow dislodges it,
it breaks it down.
Its fragments, everywhere.
All pieces have been collected.
There’s not even a chip left.
Not a bit.
The broom has been passed too.
Even the finest dust
has been collected.
However, material is missing…
To what point can the stone break down?
And the dust, a grain of dust,
how small can it be?
Is it by passing through the finest sieve,
when the dust ceases being dust?
The imperceptible particle
is suspended for hours, days.
Even years, depending on its size.
We know about the anthropogenic ones,
the ones in cities.
But there are also those
that are organic bits, or mineral ones.
For a long time,
I’ve been dreaming.
With almost imperceptible sculptures.
With clouds of marble dust,
Clusters of white powder.
The smallest sparks of matter.
Memories in the form of slivers.
Dust is detested for its volatility,
and because it covers and fills everything.
The particles can’t even be perceived.
I want the wind to bring me a particle,
or a grain of dust from that shattered sculpture.
Let it touch me, let it land on me,
And allow it to whisper its story to me.
* In Suspension is a visual essay based on the homonymous video.