…my home

…my home
video | 2’56” | color | sound

A House…
Our house…
Her house…
She sees it, she senses it, she listens to it,
As something that absorbs her, blocking her movements.
It is always happening, she doesn’t know why.
It could be because of her past memories in that house or the anxiety (fearfulness) of the time to come.

She feels a heavy pressure on her, whenever she’s inside that space.
A strong inertia embraces her,
And only time she moves is when she’s tidying up the space.
The melancholia connected with the ineffectiveness,
Transforms her in a domestic animal,
Roaming the house from end to end,
Performing the recognition of that familiar space.

Sometimes she feels that she’s being sucked into a parallel space,
As she did not want to integrate that other space, reality.
She forces herself to move her limbs, sometimes it is difficult, impractical.
She acts, but in an ineffective way,
And second by second, the nonexistent movement absorbs her.
Her upper body meets her lower limbs, and she stops, still, inanimate.

Lara Boticário Morais

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