Residuum

When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check’d even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

— William Shakespeare, Sonnet 15

Small deaths and resurrections seem to be the destiny of most objects in India.

“As he takes from you, I engraft you new” is a multimedia installation using light and small things scavenged during my walks along the beach, through the streets, and in the scrapyards of Panjim and its surroundings.

These modest things — remnants from vehicles, pieces of wood and plastic washed up by the sea, fallen leaves, and strange fruits — hang in the library. They cast shadows on the upper part of the wall, above the shelves and books.

In this immaterial fresco, the underground world with its holes, abysses, and dark figures is connected to the beauty and perfection of abstract signs and numbers displayed in the firmament.