Erga Almog

Weaver of the Procession (Pine processionary)

Performance I shift between the written and the read, heard, sung text. Between the voice which places the words – heavy, tiring, rough, rocks that sink the body under their weight, and words written on the thickness of the paper. The text is a living image, an image of color and scent – green, orange, blue, green pine, whale, orange juice. But in the end it always remains silent, dead – and I am left to resurrect it with all my might. I sing my song, I taste the words up my palate and get them out of my body. I sing silent words into the wilderness that stabs me in my place; and when the movement stops, the singing begins.