You make me, move me,
dwell in me, and beckon.
What without you
do I do at all?
Memory
Walk of the world
The eyes have it
William Kentridge at Eye Amsterdam
How we get to this particular place
Dead letters, those gods,
rise to climb the sky of the mind.
They screw on stars to make words
and leave us to raise their babies.
Tour winners
Dutch
Reader
Love
Love
is an
exercise in failure
through which
glory shines
Summer evening
Utrecht Journal 