Smoke curtain (Peter Verhelst- excerpt from catalog 1/1, 2013)
One appears to exist of smoke, of the vague form of solvent
transfer prints. The body has no longer a clear-cut form, as
if the body has been poised against a curtain and left an
imprint there (Veronica’s veil). No, as if it has become a
part of the curtain itself (shroud).
Perhaps the body has been half wiped out (as if it were a
blotch). No, it is rather a stain that cannot be removed
completely.
The bodies seem to stand in fog. The fog forms veils hanging
in front of the face. Do those faces want to hide? Perhaps its
skin has become so thin, so fragile that veils are necessary
to protect those faces. Perhaps this “amorphousness” is a shy
invitation rather than a disguise. Where is there gaze? Why do
they not look at us? Perhaps they do not do this to turn away
from us, but rather that we would want to look again and again
until we see their eyes. Perhaps because they
know that they exist for longer, the longer we look (they exist only in
our gaze). Until we know: we are smoke ourselves, and exhale
ourselves, into each other’s mouth.