“I’m after what’s beyond thought.”
– Clarice Lispector
This series is guided with exquisite precision by the writings of the Brazilian author Clarice Lispector.
She has guided me to what I call the ‘I wish I had my camera’ moments in my life – moments of experiencing the essence of something before it is embodied in a word or image; moments ‘beyond thought’.
She found the words and I in turn have formed an image for her words. I hope these images have done justice to the power of the sensations at their source. And to Clarice Lispector.
– Josephine Sacabo
I am an object loved by God. And that makes flowers blossom upon my breast. He created me the same way I created the sentence I just wrote : I am an object loved by God.
The Eye 1
The Eye 2
The Stuffed Parrot
I take refuge in roses.
Imitation of a Rose
I can’t sum myself up because it is impossible to add up a chair and two apples. I am a chair and two apples. And I don’t add up.
What is a window but air framed at right angles?
I base my life upon the waking dream. I invent you, reality.
The Waking Dream
The whole dress seemed to be played on a harp.
And as for music, after it’s played where does it go?
Violins In Time
After It’s Played
A mirror is light. The tiniest piece of mirror is always the whole mirror.
No I have not described a mirror; I’ve been one.
Behind the Mirror
What I want in music or what I paint or write to you are geometrical lines that cross in space and form a discordance I can understand.
A Geometry of Discord
I love orchids. They are born already artificial; they are born already art.
Woman with Orchids
Perhaps it’s worth it to have been born in order to one day mutely implore and mutely receive.
I struggle not to go beyond the portal.
The now instant is a firefly that turns on and off, on and off.
A butterfly is a petal that flies.
I am a star. I feel I am a star. Shattered, I am a shard of glass upon the ground.
I Am A Star
Crystal and Star
Caves are my hell.
White lilies pressing against the nudity of my breast. These lilies I offer to whatever hurts inside you.
And you do not know how much a person weighs who has no strength.
“I’m leaving”, says Death, without adding that it’s taking me along.
I breathed in the grand solitude of the dark and leaned over the edge of the moon.
Edge of the Moon
I am a memory of myself.