Anna Block

Sliver Dusk

It’s 5AM. The sun isn’t up yet. It seems cold outside. And damp. The sky is matte, and it almost looks two-dimensional. But you’re in your warm bed, gazing outside the bedroom window. You feel connected to this outside you’re gaping at but you are very aware that you are inside. It’s like a part of you is out there. You’re not necessarily looking for it, trying to get it back. It’s more like it belongs out, but it’s definitely a part of your entirety.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -> This is how it feels when looking at Anna’s photos. You wake up in the middle of a forest. You can’t figure out what season it is, it can be all of them at once. You know you’re in a forest mainly because you smell it, not because you see it. You can sniff humidity, so you know water has to be somewhere near. A shy creek, a cascade, a lake, even a swamp. A mild wind carries different whiffs straight to you.

- - -  - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -> This is how it smells when looking at Anna’s photos. You enter a white empty room, there’s nothing to look at so you instantly notice the sound; it’s a neon sound. It’s static, it’s soothing, it’s strong, stronger than you, anyway. It’s linear but you feel like you can distinguish some inflections. Then you realise there are no inflections. You imagine that this is the sound that particles make when moving.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - > This is how it sounds when looking at Anna’s photos.
 

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Written by: Adriana Ledecouvreur