“Standing, sitting, kneeling, one paints with the body.
Every time we say ‘I’ we build a wall.
Every time we build a wall we offend the earth, we violate the earth, digging the foundations of the wall, of the house.
Maybe to say ‘I’ is a ‘natural’ error, it is arbitrary.
Why long for roots when we can travel? Why protect ourselves when we were called here to protect the world?
To paint a tenti s a way to offer these questions and these thoughts. But isn’t thought itself the primary wall? The trickiest wall of all? It would be better to be without a thought, it would be better to be like the painted cotton of the tent: porous, light, mutable. Our ties, the ties anchoring the tent to the ground, are impermanent. The tent is also a sail. In Italian a small typo is enough to change walls (muri) to seas (mari). I wish for the tent-sail to take us alla way from here.
I wish for beauty to take us alla way from here. But who knows? Could beauty be a wall too?” Francesco Clemente
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