sarajevo winter jon enciondo
I leave a distant view of my own body in Sarajevo. It looks cold, broken up, unknown and inert. So I give it motion, as it suggests its desire to be given life.
And it is this I hand over to the city and to the public, who accept it in a truly shocked state. I find myself in a magical, mysterious city. Squashed (not covered) by a mantle of a huge snow.
The objects, the lights, the animals, the buildings, all of them emerge from that snow-white oppression, as a metaphor about its war history, and about a city under siege and bombarded during four years in the recent past, though always tormented by war.
Thus wild dogs, pigeons and men emerge from the snow, sometimes static, frozen like dummies, like anonymous and inexpressive buildings.
But in the interior of the buildings where life, happiness and passion is hiding, the feelings, prayers and thoughts create real pictures. And they are even shining brightly, without the misterious crushing snow.
Sarajevo says good bye to me, with an emphemeral LOVE YOU, written with an anonymous finger on a carĀ“s windscreen. And although it will disspear immediately, it will chase me my entire life.