I'm like a rotting apple, I change my shape and color. Falling from the old branch of a tree in a windy forest, displacing decayed leaves from the ground to the shore. That beach with all the stones, that once were elsewhere. The beach where someone walks a dog, with no leash, free to run wild and acting out.

I'm like a hare, out of reach, intangible, and always in the field. Moving through landscapes, with an attitude and a purpose. In a caravan, in a train, moving across landscapes. Always shifting shape, adapting my behaviour, changing the route.

I'm so lazy, never busy. Only running if chased, only sleeping when tired, only eating when hungry. Like a hunter acting as the deer, dressing as the woods. Adapting his behaviour, changing his color. I'm going shopping, always local, never import. Few meters, never miles. Bringing a bag, in the field, foraging herbs. Always local, crouching, collecting what’s around me, when I move, my assortment varies, always changing.

I'm always cleaning the room, always dirty, the dust accumulates. Wiping the counter, mopping the floor. Never finished, always cleaning. My house is dynamic, moving furniture from the bedroom to the kitchen.

I'm like water, always moving, shifting shape. Water from which someone drowns, from which I drink. I'm like the water in the river, along the route, through the mountains. Settlers align themselves along me. I'm like a field, always defined, never free. Always there, never here. Shifting shape, changing route. Moving across the landscape, always somewhere else.

I'm like a flourishing ivy, living on a castle, always changing shape, shifting colors. On the bricks, on the glass. Living on the walls of the castle, like I would live on a fallen dying tree.
Always shifting shape, adapting my behaviour, changing the route. No questions, only feelings.

Text by Theodor Nymark