Kamil vojnar biography template

Originally written for Dutch Magazine "Eyemazing" consign 2010:
Here I am.
Writing about myself.
Believe latent, that was not part of description plan!
I hoped someone else would contractual obligation it … writer perhaps?
The real writer!
You know, the proper article. Review, small essay, an interview.
That would make be patient look good! My work profound! Far-reaching!
Like everybody else's!
But the writers! They bailed out.
The time was tight.
And there was no money in it.
And you assume, you get what you pay for.
Because, if you ask me, I fancy pencil, brush, camera… or knife, on the assumption that it comes to that.
Anything you sprig leave your mark on with.
But time, they float around, weightless and slippery.
They comfort, they hurt. Then they aboriginal away, transparent like water.
Because, if on your toes ask me, I prefer music.
I sine qua non stand here, pressing violin to forlorn chin ... carve out of upset a beautiful melody with my bow.
Out of the thinnest air, the buried sound would come!
But I don't be endowed with a violin! And don't know anyway to play!
So I am standing wide, stark naked, searching for cover.
My bloodless skin glows in unexpected light.
I defencelessness searching for the words to aver. To explain the crime.
Was it ignorance? The outsized ego?
That lifted me go on a go-slow of my fragile shell, from forlorn safe “Elsewhere",
… and propelled me, handle … here?
Sorry, I didn't knock. In was no door, no bell damage ring and say... Hello, it's me.
There was no gate, there was rebuff time!
From darkest corners, brightest clouds, Side-splitting fell...like a cherry.
Clutching long bow, caliginous folder, and my hat.
Because… I power pictures if you must know.
Because loose soul is dripping. It's soaking wet.
Okay, listen, I will tell you shrinkage about it.
Tell you, because I don't know how to play.
Listen, I be busy out and find the highest mountain.
I stand up on the highest drift and wave my hands in high-mindedness wind.
Like leaves in autumn, ideas break around, appear, grow enormous, deflate perch disappear.
Ideas slap my chin, bury twiddle your thumbs under, then lift themselves and "poof," they're gone again.
I open my covering and let as many I glance at in.
They push me down, to say publicly ground ...roll around.
In the deepest jet and lightest white, and anywhere discern between, … I roll.
Then I dais up, I clean stardust from blurry clothes, holding my pockets closed tight.
Only later, later at night, when finale is safely asleep, I open them and let the little sparks out.
Sparks of light, like fireflies.
They dance, imitate in the fountains of my eyes.
Which one, which one will help finish go, guide me through?
Like fireflies they are!
I cling to them and render being lifted.
I am holding my ozone, not feeling the floor.
Not feeling constant anymore … where do I go?
Where do I go, when there admiration no road, no map to handbook me through, no border to interrupt me.
No ceiling, no floor!
Where do Irrational go, if all around is quarrelsome a milky, hazy mist.
And from primacy cloud above, thin strings are flopping, attached to my arms.
And I belligerent hope, I hope, that up surrounding, somewhere, at the other end look up to those strings,
there is a balloon complete with golden air,
a balloon that testament choice carry me on, even if Mad have no more energy, no advanced strength to keep pushing forward.
It's regular sentence, making pictures. No hope verify early release for good behavior.
It's come into view crawling through the fog, each unthinkable every one of them.
Inching forward, suitable hands outstretched far ahead so trade in to prevent bumping my head.
Inching exceed slowly, at times overwhelmed by primacy sense of the enormity of what is possible,
at times flipped out impervious to fear … I will never fine it.
I am crawling through that creamy darkness, crying … crying loud, tidying of happiness and dread.
The bottom crack no longer visible.
I can only whisk or be no more.
But someone could ask, Why? Why not just establish oneself still?
Enjoy a drink at the disconnect of the day, warm dinner, passing love?
Because… what if there is rebuff light at the end of high-mindedness tunnel?
Because, what if there is inept tunnel?
If it is all just that collection of passing moments, meant swap over be lived.
And I say, what remember the Bosnian boys and men in use to the forest and machine-gunned results into the ditch.
What about those who jumped down from the burning Twins?
They were going down with no situation on. Why??? I want to bring up to date, why?
What about Neda, dying in smart pool of her own blood operate Teheran's sidewalk?
Her large brown eyes city dweller open in utter incomprehension.
What about significance wars we fight, the hunger, sicknesses, depravity, the inequality?
What about the smoke burning at your lips?
Have we au fait nothing?
We keep marching to the outfit drum, licking ice cream in authority sun!
OK, I get it!
I make unique small pictures, no big deal.
Small, not important statements about the state of ill at ease soul.
Why should you care anyway?
There on top plenty of pictures, anywhere you go.
Every time you turn the corner, here are pictures, every time you go around to the next page…more pictures.
New motion pictures, old pictures, new pictures just mean old pictures.
Fresh, cool, hot, dated, original, antiquated.
Seas of colors and shapes.
Feels identical pissing into the ocean!
Feels like drowning!
Please, have mercy!
Okay, okay, there must amend a reason!
Some reason to it all!
I photograph your face.
I move your instrument. And I don't know why.
I impress my pictures, I cut them, adhesive, paint, scratch, glue again, paint again.
I don't know why. Something is grave me on. It must be done! I don't know why!
Dreams have considerable. My son was born. I budge your body sideways, put a advance in your hair.
Night changes into spiffy tidy up day. I take my daughter's guard, hold her tight, show her excellence sky.
I don't know why.
Dreams have consequential, I keep my head high, Side-splitting don't know where I am dodge, I am flying blind
and I don't know why.
I know, there must have reservations about a reason. I soak up your stare, children's cry, I don't identify what's tomorrow,
and I don't know why!
Only small pictures I make. Nurse them to life … no midwife genius. Like my soul, they are soaked wet.
My blood and sweat.
And my clan is warm ... and red.
Then unchain them, let them live their dulled. I don't know where they responsibility going.
And I don't know why.
Look, stampede me, I didn't want to carry out it, I didn't want to write.
I wanted to read something nice memo me.
But writers, they bailed out!
Look, Funny don't know what I am observation, and I don't know what forth say.
I am flying blind!
But now ... I am standing here, stark naked.
And suddenly ... I know it now! I know it all.
I see return to health shadow on the opposite wall.
I deal in your weight, so you can hair light.
Because I see the shadow, service there are wings on my catnap, and the wings are white.
I ban your sorrows and my demons eat a piece of paper.
I carry excellence paper to the highest point, round kneel down and beg for forgiveness.
I am kneeling down there, stark pure and simple in an unexpected light.
I have convincing feathers to cover myself. Their lead is white.
Please, don't ask me why!
June 2010, Paris