Texts by Adon Elmir
When the brushes are helpless, the words may appear. How a picture and / or a painting becomes as a poetic text that attempts to describe the artist's inner world, it is a question about the kinship between different forms of art.
The wretched last time will sure bring forward a short and newborn time; a time that is replete with the love of existence. But the debacle's incubus will remain around and inside us until we have disappeared without a trace.
We will shake off the death's dust of our faces, dig up the pride of our dead, and thereafter run towards the yearning's dilation. The trice of choice has come, and the wear appears like an army beleaguers us from all fronts. There is no way to exceed this bitter period tyranny or opportunity to be adorned with the pioneer dreams, even though the head has brightened with the all of what was left behind the matutinal wonders..."
Read the whole text [Norwegian]: Ravens' croaking
"You do not apprehend what instigates you to write at this moment that occurs outside the time's physique, nor do you know why you draw these lines just to me. You ask: "Do we have the right to scatter our choking oxides in the atmosphere of whom we love?" I have to admit that it is almost impossible to understand what you mean..."
Read the whole text [Norwegian]: Lethargy