Art is not a means of escape but a performative and performing laboratory where the body exposes itself, stages its latencies, and its insight of other natures. What is the language that best captures, or that becomes a channel, a passage, even if only sporadically, of eloquent signs, of disturbing anomalies that cannot be traced back to the ordinary? What corporeal immersion can be conjured to nourish the rise of vital knots, of porous zones? If the act of communication were not a negotiation, who would dare to announce their own demons, their angels? In the border, as a place on the brink of meaning and action, I see an unknown and magnetic land.
