One is past, the other is the future. One is a stone ; the other is a bird's feather. One is the pull of gravity; the other lifting, free, soaring. One is cloaked in cold shadows; the other warmed by bright rays of light. One setting is small, a wall; the other immense, without bounds, open. One is still, dead; the other is moving, alive. One is a place in which we live; the other is a place in which we dream.
from his writing on the Art Volant Symposium in Palma de Majorca 1995.
reminds me of Jobim’s Waters of March...
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