I see you entering the museum. You come in and we are there to welcome you. We accompany you to the office where you can leave your belongings. Your bag feels heavy and it looks as if you might be too warm wearing that jacket inside the museum.
We enter the permanent collection area and we sit on one of the benches. I take out my hand sanitizer and offer to massage your hands. I touch your hands. We touch each other’s hands. Thinking of touching and caring. Paying attention. Attention to the senses. While we touch each other’s hands I ask you to give me a word. One word.
You mention the sky. You mention cotton. You mention warmth.
Our left hands hold each other. They do not let go until the end of this text. l place my right hand between your shoulder blades.
We stand up. And I ask you to let me guide you. We stand in front of a painting. Together. My senses watch along with yours. We support each other while being with the painting. Close your eyes.
We walk. My eyes are open. Yours are closed. I use my right hand to reassure you. You lean back slightly against my right hand. We walk. The museum is empty. Open your eyes.
We stand in front of a painting. Together. My senses watch along with yours. We support each other while being with the painting. I sense your breathing and the movement of your eyes through the contact of our hands. In suspension. Close your eyes.
We walk a bit more. Perhaps for a bit longer. To the other end of the museum. As we move, the fact that we are together, that we are accompanying each other, your eyes closed and mine open, means we can sense the different temperatures and sounds of the spaces we pass by. The sun.
The sun shines through one of the glass doors. It is warm. It is pleasant. The sun, millions of miles away, is touching our skin.
We keep walking. Stop. Open your eyes.
Two sculptures. You tilt your head slightly to the right. Through my left hand I can feel that you are smiling slightly. We are side by side. Our masks cannot hide the inner movements of our bodies. Your head is tilted to the right. My right hand opens a bit more and I feel you are rubbing the palm of my hand. Close your eyes.
We go back. We take other routes inside this museum. We go back. We feel an invisible current pushing against us. We know from the architecture and our cultural understanding of the space that we are going against the current. It is ok. It is just a moment. The place starts to open up in many directions. I am guiding the body next to mine towards a new artwork. Making a route through the body and the senses, imagining other ways of arranging the works and being with them. Touching.
There is a slight downward slope. The sense of space changes as we turn into the next room. Open your eyes while you keep walking.
Walking into the painting. The painting coming towards us. Exhaling almost simultaneously. Being with the painting. In our bodies. My right hand senses the micro-pendulum of your body. My body becomes a micro-pendulum together with yours. The painting moves as we move. Close your eyes.
We turn around. A few steps. A little adjustment. Steps to one side.
Open your eyes. We are within the painting through its reflection. You are watching the painting and I am watching us. We are reflected by it in the same way that we are usually reflected by what we see and perceive. This moment is quite clear. It is soothing. I remove my right hand from your back so that I can do a little dance with my right hand. Cells opening up and movement in the space we share. Let’s get closer to the painting. Stars.
I ask you to turn your head. In the distance, there are more stars. The relationship between the paintings creates a constellation. A universe. It occurs to me that being in a constellation of things may always be calming. A universe of stars that no longer exist. We see the remains of the places where there was life. A letter to the future. Close your eyes.
Open your eyes. We are surrounded by three paintings. Gently, I suggest moving our backs from one side to the other. Rotating our backs. We keep up this movement. The paintings merge through our movement. The relationship between the ground and our heads. The lines and the colours creating a movement. A spiral movement. We follow each other by listening. Moving together. We focus on a point at the end. We move closer. Our hands still together.
Our hands are linked by our fingers. It is a gentle knot. No pressure. No tension. We don’t change the position of our hands often. We can feel the micro-movements generated while we hold hands. We hold hands all the time.
My right hand is warmer from touching your back, though your movement. It is part of your seeing and your sensing, located around the place I am touching. This is a stronger sensation. My senses, myself, meet around the place you are touching. Sensations in the hands. Hands touching. Close your eyes.
We walk and, as we walk, the spatial recognition of the space fades. We walk, and as we walk, we pass through things that you are not seeing. Nevertheless, you experience the potential otherness of the museum. You inhabit the gaps.
Open your eyes. Back to one of the first paintings. We stand in front of a painting. Together. My senses watch along with yours. We support each other while being with the painting. I sense your breathing and the movement of your eyes though the contact of our hands. In suspension. In longer suspension. Our sense of touch has changed. Observing from somewhere else in the body too. Silence. Vibrancy. You start moving your back very slightly. I notice that movement. At some point I let go of your left hand. I leave you with the painting. Hopefully, with its resonance. I step back a few paces. I can see you looking. Being with it. In suspension.
Silence.
You turn around. Our presence has shifted. We talk from a different place. We listen. We talk. We exchange. With that body, we go back to get your things and you leave the museum.
Silence again.
CONNECTIONS
Mercat de les Flors (ES) // Quim Bigas (ES/DK) // Fundació Joan Miró–Barcelona (ES) – Associate Partner //
