If I sing, will you record? If I sing, will you pick up the phone?
Take this to be a living room
I’ll take the windowsill as the horizon and the lamp as the sun
The backseat of a car, a recording of a recording, a recording of a friend
I’ll take the envelope of all the traces I left behind in the city, or anywhere else, or anyone or anything could have done
A fold in the fabric A talk in the bar, where people explain the solar system with their feet, hands, and glasses
If anyone sings, I will record If anything sings, I will pick up the phone
The radio’s on, a frame’s trembling, an envelope opens
Searching for a frequency: the making of a sentence
Lick your finger, flip a page
A handshake, a cough, a table: the making of a dance
Alright, two steps Play that sound To envelop the words
Quick, let me buy some paper Quick sketch, I’ll soon forget
The opening of a bed sheet The radio’s on It is standing on the porch, but I’ll move it inside
Writing a letter: the address is somewhere where I wrote it down
A singing voice, a walk outside, a window view: making sense
A folding page, a note written on the back of a used envelope The inside isn’t anything more than the outside
A living room, a lamp, a chair, a windowsill: a sentence
The more I frame, the less I measure
One turn, two hands A gentle cough, a wink, a sigh: an instrument
I think I heard it before, that recording of a friend The start of a recording, the moving of a set You hear me testing the recorder, the set itself moves, it has nothing to do with me There is one pedestal, two screens, maybe a folding chair
It continues The radio’s on
The keeping up with things: frames, tables, outside
The opening of a door, the porch with a radio playing there You or me heard it before
Anyone, anything: the making of a sentence
A living room, a lamp, a windowsill
Project on drawing and redrawing.
(charcoal, 100×70 cm)
