Abel Hartooni, Letters to Clouds

All the times rush into me.

All the colors blend together madly

Within a whirlwind And they transform into white, white, white.

And I am passionately seeking to participate in this all-encompassing ritual of 

white metamorphosis

Always here, always now, always never.

Neither I have an escape, nor a desire to escape.

In order to escape, one has to be with oneself.

To escape, you must have something of your own.

I had nothing of my own.

I should have had.

-Azad Matian,Վտարանդին (Vtarandin)

I still find myself looking up fascinated by their constant flux. Ungraspable. They could not sense me, but I will anyhow try to reorient myself through images and words about how I relate to them within my own becoming. Nevertheless The becomings are neither one, nor two, nor the relation between them. They are  rather the in-between. 

I ask myself, What kind of a relationship exists between the sky, the flow of painting and the process of subject formation while thinking through the concept of the in-between?

The ‘I’ blends with the ‘I’ which comes before and after. Like that of the gradient, and that of those identities which touch upon hybridity, rupture, transformation and becoming. An all encompassing ritual of white metamorphosis; weaving opacities, weaving clouds.