START: Monday, Hanadi’s soil letter arrived in the afternoon post, it was late.
I have chosen the spot just by the entry to the flats, under the bush (probably heavily used by the local dogs). The soil was hard but delicate. I took three or four fistful of it. Just right amount. It took only few minutes. It did not feel as it was long enough, as it had appropriate weight.
Lukasz took some ‘staged’ pictures of me and the bag in front of the flats from various angles, with and without flash. Ania on holiday style, no smile. Neighbours silently smoked their cigarettes in their windows and watched us as a new episode of the daily soap. We went back in.
END: Tuesday, at the crowded airport, security’s about to scan my bag, I wonder if soil looks as a forbidden item (no liquids, no sharp objects, no explosives). It was early. I packed the soil myself.
Pictures by Lukasz Partyka (I said I will mention, he said it is not necessary)
1 comment:
Dear Ania
I very much like the use of linguistics in this work - the powerful significance of soil/earth - our deep connections to the ground on which we crawl, walk, sit or fall. I smiled when I read your trepidation at airport security about whether soil was a forbidden item. When I returned from Tanzania a few years back I brought some frangipani seeds with me, picked up in the garden of a dear friend - later I discovered that seeds are on the forbidden list. Oh dear!
Patricia
Post a Comment