Antonella Marreiros

Life, from the space of listening, can be spoken of as movement. Movement upon codified ground woven with discourse. Movement that stumbles before standing on such ground.

Many come to analysis bringing scenes from the territory where an I emerges, territory and I alike inhabited, more and more intensely, by more than one.

Where movement finds its conditions, questions emerge.

“Has it happened in the scene I dreamed?”
“Has it been dreamed into existence?”
“Will I dissolve in the snare I stepped into?”

Associations find a place; threads are tensioned, touched, reworked. Something comes back, and back. Pain keeps the count that keeps the pain. Remedies old and new, made for me, myself and I, do the work in my place. The circle turns so smoothly it almost begins to pass for a cure.

In a world built of mirrors and podiums, that one says goes missing behind what is said, in what is heard. That one says is buried under stories that wear one’s name.

That neglect lets a heavy chain of demands keep reproducing itself: to be heard, seen, understood, answered, satisfied.

That one says sinks a long way down, for a long time, toward a void of what could have been.

Will an answer precipitate itself on the surface of a question that bears no weight, that is imposed as something other than an enigma?

We do not know.

Movement writes itself as work: on the surface of that ground woven with discourse.