Andro Wekua

Andro Wekua, Yet to be titled, 2012, acrylic plaster, wood, steel, gypsum fiberboard, acrylic paint, 13 1/2 x 17 1/4 x 16 1/4".


HE HAD A FACE LIKE AN ASH-COLORED MASK. I could hear his heavy breathing beneath it.

During warm, humid days he left the city and went to the swamp. He liked to use his foot to test the swamp. To this day, the memory of it takes his breath away. This was in March.

A white motorcycle stood by with its headlight on. Dressed in a white T-shirt and blue sneakers, he was in the swamp up to his waist. He said he wanted to try standing on the surface or to at least feel the bottom of the damn thing. But I can’t really remember what he wanted. I waited, transfixed by his face. As I stared, I felt my hand sweating around a soda can.

In that city, everything was estranged. At fourteen, she was walking along the beach, going home from the hotel. The evening cooled: A gray tree was green, the silver sea light blue; the dry breeze felt humid. Even though it was red, the sunset appeared

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