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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 22 | volume IV | August-September, 2001



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 22August-September, 2001
Essays

Weaving the Absent

(Alessandro Barico, Silk)


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Ana Dimiškovska - Trajanoska

The Silk
    At the end of the world, on the island enveloped in its own solitude, for thousands of years now, the most precious fabric is bred: the Japanese silk. With the same mystical precision of the rituals and secrets necessary for the its creation, it thins it until the natural relation between the sight and the touch almost disappears: the silk veil, the eye’s dream – the colors themselves, liberated, unfolded in the space – disappears at the moment when the hand reaches to touch it, to capture it with its impregnable flesh. As if caressing air. And when the cage of pressed fingers opens, the endless threads of the fabric unbraid as if alive, they come to existence once again, as if the cocoon in which they had been conceived did not manage to extinguish the memory of their airy nature, their winged origin.

Hervé Joncourt lived on the silk, on buying and selling silkworms, putting himself at risk on the long journeys to Japan, the end of the world.

Hervé Joncourt lived for the silk, the material substrate of the non-existent, the shiny, melancholic sign of the untouchability of what moves the whole life, the glittering absence of the reasons.
    
    He was dying of yearning for something he would never experience.

The Nameless
    His story trembles in the air as a veil woven from the finest thread of Japanese silk: the remote – silent, shiny and secret, as the face of the girl whose eyes do not have the oriental shape, the creature from another world fully rooted in the non-transparent ritual life of the far East, the lover of the master Hara Key. Nameless, voiceless, soundless, composed of nothing but gestures with an unspeakable, and perfectly clear meaning, she transforms into an untouchable core of life for Hervé Joncourt, from her first look that pierces him as she lies in the lap of his master, as a rare and precious animal. The veil that is blown in the wind, as a ruthless road mark, even if it leads over the barren landscape, on the other end of the world.
    
    Hélène

    His wife, the close thing, woven into the horizon with the slight unnoticeability of the ceilings that support the world; the silk veil pressed between the palms, in the quiet disappearing of the secret substance that lives on the space of desire. The incapturable nature of the silk: how to prevent the veil of






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