Imagine two circles meeting. An oval shape (Schnittstelle/interface) is created in the middle, an extension of the connected two circles. Oval shapes are like transformed circles, flatter, but more open than round as a shape itself. Bodies are oval shapes. Shapes of trees in comparison to legs, shapes of fins in comparison to legs: shapes becoming yet more shapes. Eyes look like mouths.

My imagination keeps spinning in circles. It becomes more absurd, but that is probably how the mind works. Or that is where the two meet. Adding means touching. Subtracting means wounding. While emptying it, the middle part becomes a gap, a cut. Shapes like that are reminders of how close humans and animals can be. Fishes have shapes of mouths, jump into water: they look like eyes. Strange that they look like eyes but then there are stranger things. I keep returning to fishes over and over again.

I feel close to them. I feel related to them. The idea of fishes are similar to my ideas of not having a body or of loosing control. I often imagine how it might be like having a body but not possessing my own figure. Swimming, slipping, sliding through water. I remember someone saying: “You are neither fish nor bird.“ Since then I’m wondering what it would feel like not being able to swim or to fly.

The image of the silver cloth in a barn looks to me like a fish. I touch it but it does not feel slimy. It is soft. I pick it up. It hangs down from my hand to the floor. There it lies: myself touching myself, touch seeking touch, and with this the desperate need to feel anything. Maybe someone else could do that for me. The skin – like material is hanging down. Touching me, touching the floor. I stand there barefoot on the cold concrete. My body feels heavy, so heavy. I lay down the floor flat and as I do so, I sink into it.

“But if all that was left of me was an empty shell, what I had previously been was now dissolving in the ether, almost harmoniously becoming part and parcel of reality of absence and emptiness, more gas now than solid.” (Darrieussecq, Marie. My phanthom Husband. )