There might be a garden nearby.

For thirty-three days, I wake up, and cultivate beans. Many grains put side by side: A smaller amount over two white dishes, and all the other grains in big wood or paper boxes (both covered in cotton). I follow their growth daily. The vase-dishes are almost always over laid on a small white table, while the boxes are spread on the floor or over a board. I chase after the little “sunny squares” that come in, to position the vase-dishes there, at least once a day. For that reason they change places throughout the studio. My main duty becomes to water them with a little eyedropper: seed by seed,drop-by-drop. And also to sit down, photograph and observe for hours long; in that way, I find out the details, the shapes, and the continuous transformations.

... the sprout ... the birth ... the growth ... the life ...

On the thirty-third day, I wake up earlier, and I prepare myself to start the garden’s preparations. We all move. Then, I cover a room’s floor with white cotton, enough cotton to create a fluffy and soft space. I take the boxes with the grown or sprouting plants, and perhaps even those with grains (showing up the different growing stages). Then I replant them over the fluffy ground. I also put up the same white table I use every day, and on it: the dishes, the cup of water and the eyedropper. The same gadgets I use everyday throughout the process. Slowly, walking barefoot, I water the plants with the eyedropper. And that’s it: I keep caring for the garden, up to the moment when it is settled in perfect harmony. After the work is “done”, I silently lay down on the humid floor to rest and keep growing with them.
At the room’s entrance I leave an invitation: enter barefoot.