Years of Dust will Build a Mountain / Costantino Zicarelli


Behold! And I looked—a pale horse! (Never mind. I was just dreaming.)

[heavy breathing]

[exhales sharply]

The desire to consume these forests is limitless. Covering the land, these giant soil mysteries, these distant but familiar mounds that give me comfort—warm embrace—feelings that for a long time were ignored.

I’m looking around this eyesore of a studio. These old habits, old rituals. Everything is old but transformed, brutally: old wood, faded by time, wears a second skin.

Twenty Eleven.

An early afternoon, the sun’s rays stinging my back: I wasn’t pleased. But I was persistent, motivated by an idea creeping in the back of my head. In the small, intimate garden in front of my house, the soil grew character, perhaps from years of neglect by the savage beasts that roam over it. I used my hands like a shovel and unearthed as much as I could. Then I poured the white soul, to capture the impression left by my force. And from that mold the ground gifted me with a ghost-like figure—behold! The whitest mountain at my fingertips. I was pleased.

These days time is not what it used to be. Seasons, moments, passed. Old Habits and Old Rituals are reappearing, but this time they are manageable. I’m getting older, but i don’t mind. I try to know, to truly know, everything I see. I try to inhale the scale of this land. This once glorious white mountain faded back into the blackest soil, ash that shape-shifts into the infinite.

“We gaze continually at the world and it grows dull in our perceptions. Yet seen from another's vantage point, as if new, it may still take the breath away.”
―Alan Moore

These mountains, when I travel through them, in turn consume me.

feb 6, 2019 1:49am

Time & Location

Feb 16 - Mar 16

C1 Karrivin Plaza, 2316, Chino Roces Ave, Ext, Makati, 1630 Metro Manila