(floor text)

The words don’t make sense they said
Mouths stayed open and ate my silence.
I stared back and felt my emptiness.
Long ears listening.
All the better to ignore you with my dear.

Why are you here?
What do you know?
Why are you not certain?

Walk with stronger words and decide.
Stop your softness  -  it is making me uncomfortable.

I held the apple between my fingers
And presented my knowledge.
My hands were empty they said.

Where are your hands?
Why are your feet bare?
Do you not know what you are?

The words were too hard to be heard.
The words didn’t make sense they said.


(wall text)

“a monster is a person who has stopped pretending”
-Colsen Whitehead

“since her fear did her no good, she ceased to be afraid”
-Angela Carter

“But my silence is real.
If I hid it from you, you would find it again 
a little farther on.”
-Maurice Blanchot

“I lose my screams, they find me again!”

laughing in a stone ear

In the absence of visitors to share a table with, a group of entities moved into my living room. Hybrid manifestations of memories and myths, they stood silently at the periphery of my vision and my lounge room, quietly waiting to be acknowledged. Sharing new knowledge and reworking old stories, one by one they were remembered.

graphite on paper

each page 100cm x 70 cm, 450gsm

wooden framework

graphite handwriting on wall
and floor


︎ Rafael Roncato