The point of view of Alex

Cats and Graves and Metaphors

Day 3 of Jamm'Art
After some days of intense jamming, words don't come easy. While my colleagues are busy jammin' I sneak off for a bit and walk around St. Johns Church, the place we've been all week. It is about time to explore the building a bit more.

The floor of the building is covered with gravestones. Shall I step on them? or walk around? There are far too many to do a detour each time.
The living walking on the remains of their ancestors - a metaphor?

The church still is a church on sunday. And it is a part of the Baltic Sea Cultural Centre.
Our stage, the light, concert hall chairs and many more things mix with the items of religious worshipping.

So what is this? a metaphor?

There is this sculpture of a woman reading (or singing?) from a book.
She is floating on the wall above my head. She is observed by a sullen protrait of a male (mysogynist?).
Or is he looking at me?

Four or five ornaments - a putto, three lions and an agonizing rocaille - are awaiting their future fate in the corner of the church, where the font is.
They are displaced from their original place of destination.

A group of sculptures kept like a horde of sheep in another corner in a corral.
They are congealed in their pathetic poses.
Their aesthetics ridiculed by their displacement.

Then there is this foot and the delicate construction of a grave. 
A geometrie of grace and construction still preserved.

This must be the portrait of the remains that rot underneath this splendid construction.
Had he been powerful? Not a beauty for sure. He does not look as if he would care.
The pathos is gone and what stays is the metaphor, the memento mori.

And there is fear. Is it the fear of change?
The family seems anachronistic in their behaviour, persistent in their attitude, insisting that their believe is right.
The picture above of them had been (and still is) reality. All their prayors for nothing.
And then: their picture of their persistence survived.

Outside is this cat. She must be blind and she stays, not like the others who are scared and run away.
She sits and purrs, like a meditating Buddha. Probably she knows more.

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