Please Don't Talk to Fishermen

The space around me seems to be created by the surrounding sound. I get immerged in this space deeper and deeper; the sound of the city envelops me and places me in a shell of silence where I can hear the echoes of people around only occasionally, where I am able to maintain my silence. This silence has the nature of effect when the voice is followed by a moment of protracted silence of anticipation, which in turn may create a field for new dialogues. Voices become sort of barriers between points of relocation, intermediate points of our movement. It is so strange to find oneself inside. Here the city takes on different contours: the outlines of numerous monologues from different realities intertwine into a single physical space. A space that exists only at the moment of being mute, but eludes at the moment one makes a noise. A space with geography and topology determined only by my inner voice.

About those songs that are sung only in silence

About songs originating from the banks of the river

Megapolis sound

louder

noisily

brighter

ringing

It is difficult to imagine that somewhere in the very center of the city there are people moving away from places through the silence of the process, through the silence of movement, through being and being.

Such places retain the echoes of spaces in which time was a duration process. In them, the length in which everyday life proceeded was a single ensemble with the processes of nature, and solitude was a place for internal dialogue: the solitude in which we kept our knowledge of the generations of nature.

The privacy that fishermen keep.

In such an orchestra

silence takes on a voice

echoes reflected in the water

the water touches the city

The sound of an ancient xylophone here comes into contact with folk singing, going into the depths of the inner loneliness of the voice: a voice in search of its nature and roots: roots that sound so distinctly in the songs of lonely fishermen: men who await with trepidation a meeting with a place: a place that has been lost in the muttering cities.