18Libro_Sinestesia_completo-final

that we are, we see that, like a poetic composition in which the initial letters of
the lines form a word, the sum of nasal appendages configures a peculiar acrostic.
We are that acrostic universe in which the extremities are verse.
Miroslaw Balka
First the smell of the Past, that’s what is interesting in art I make.
Very often the smell of the past is hiden in the smell of materials, into sculptures.
The smell of pine needles from the X-mas tree.
The smell of pieces of soap.
The smell of rubber.
The smell is carrying memory.
Jorge Perianes
‘May every knot that is tied be easy to untie, may every compromise be temporary.’
—Zygmunt Bauman
Artificiality and reification, apples that have no smell. An imperfectly
assembled reality, the fragments crudely held together by precarious ropes
and knots. The scattered senses and the brain spending all their time on vain
attempts to fit pieces and complete puzzles with unrelated reasons. We force
the pieces, jamming them together, deforming and ruining them: it doesn’t
matter! If the communication works the image will work, what more could
we hope for? Our perceptions are manifestly illusory, as science now finally
confirms: reality is illusory. Prop it up (tie it up): our daily task (the modern
Sisyphus); deforming it is not a problem for us. Manipulating signs and
symbols is still relevant, may even be the most necessary task, or the perhaps
preferable benefits of illusion.
Eva Lootz
Smell of copper, smell of cold.
Smell of winter, of hard times.
Copper has no smell, but the hand does when it works it.
The sky is a dreadful blue hole that dispenses silence.
In the remote valleys the snow acquires a skin like meringue just out of the oven.
It is so cold that the smoke from the chimneys slides in the air like lava
flowing upward.
It is winter.
Robert MAPPLETHORPE
It would seem that when the great American photographer Mapplethorpe
pointed his camera at this flower, so stripped of everything that was not
petals and corolla and framing it in an aura of smoke, he wanted to achieve
a minimalist poetic image of it, as if he had in mind that famous phrase of
Gertrude Stein’s, ‘Rose is a rose is a rose is a rose…’.
—Maria Lluïsa Borràs
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