Submerged in a hollow, like a cave. A river runs beneath the surface. I hear its flow, constant, without pause. There is total darkness. I find my way by touch, by opaque sounds. Photographs become doors into illuminated rooms that surprise me and sometimes scare me. I move through spaces that seem to have no contours, internal spaces that are ceaselessly transformed. Like those dwarves from Solaris: every time Tarkovsky’s character opens a door, they run out and escape. Apparitions from a parallel reality.

 

I feel like I am approaching something essential. Suddenly, I find a little peace within this deaf, desperate depression. I feel intense love for my sons, but my affection is trapped in a network of dark and complex emotions that I still do not understand. And above all, impotence. That sensation of not knowing which way to move, where to begin. Wanting to take refuge in the embrace of my children, and at the same time, to be alone, all alone in my depression.

 

As if I wanted to contain something that is seeping through everywhere, I patch up one crack and it forcefully makes its way through another. Like a leak. Perhaps I ought to simply let it run and put up no resistance. But I am so scared.