A place. A place of waiting, expectation. A place of promise: a place to let yourself whirl and swirl, forget yourself, forget everything, stand outside time... Rapture, dizziness, the thrill of losing control, giving in to centrifugal forces, overcoming gravity’s tug on the body, moving round and round in the same place with no progress – childlike pleasures.
Anticipation, said to be the finest thrill of all. Is that actually true?
Pictures of waiting, of the melancholy of waiting and wishing.
They felt the crisis, one of the actors told me. I don’t know if that’s true, I’d never been there at night when the merry-go-rounds where going round and the swings swinging. What interested me was the prospect of potential pleasures to come, the colorful melancholy, simmering in the midday heat, of seeking self-oblivion, the hollowness before being filled... In a word, promise.
“Waiting” is part of a work about seeking happiness, dissolution and forgetting of the self… and also about a conception of happiness.