...water drops on the paper. Its becomes translucide, tints itself and begins to shine. The wet parts are stuck between the dry parts. Cellulose fibers swell. Water makes me discover the beauties of the blister.
...I drop a little ink with my black marker on the blister wich is not still wet. I try to delineate a part of this watery uncontrollable world. The paper begins to drink the ink greedily. It softly disperses. A spote radiates. The shape moulders. Fibers does not dehydrate at the same rate. Dry parts pull on those that are still wet. In certain places, the sheet wrinkles gently. While contracting, the support plays with the light, revealings its reliefs. The air rushes underneath and lifts it slightly from the next sheet. The paper begins to float.
...There is not almost nothing, some itting left by the pencil and old print, an ersatz trace. Like a blind person discovering the world, my gaze is absorbed in the barely smeared surface. I does not want to suffer the insignificant. I have to go inside and linger in this bareness. I push the limits of perception even further.