Children’s games. Games children play. Age-old movements, varieties that exist through space and time. Words that are shouted, whispered and remain silent. Hands that carry out rituals and thereby discover new things. The sudden, the unexpected in a repeated occurrence. A breathing-in of existence. In the Now. In movement.
And all this photographed with a serious lightness. The autumnal smell of grass and earth, the coolness of the iron pole beneath her fingers, the fluffy edge of the suede coat sleeves. The woollen scarf in your face, scratchiness, looking into the darkness and all around voices, breathing, your own voice, counting, footsteps. Muted steps, thoughtful movements, hiding yourself, being cunning and running, getting your turn. Children play life within seconds.
Unselfconsciously in a time loop. And later, continuing to dream, daydreams. Picturing replays and making a wish. And knowing the difference: N. was wearing new boots and her beautiful winter coat and she often decided what we played, J. did what we said and N. called out I’m the queen of the world and I explained.
Finding the Being-as-it-is and Being Different in games. I am, I am not you and I am the queen of the world. In view of this photograph: Children, who play age-old games and invent themselves. Birgit Szepanski
Playing blind man’s buff
as a child in photos
blindly understanding each other on the
retina of the world
Playing fate with blindfolded eyes
and exhausting the blind metaphors
to the end
in this photograph
living in Braille
feeling for the future
with blindfolded eyes
close your eyes again
and really imagine the eyes
of the others who are also
playing blind man’s buff
or are thinking up other imaging techniques
for the fate
of the blind seer of tomorrow.