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Having been asked to work ‘with air’, I invited a small wind to blow through the pages of the book I was reading, picking up only one word per page. These words were used in the order that they originated to tell a new story. I read the story over and over again during the installation named 'air'. The installation parts consisted of book pages, silk, paper boxes and mother-of-pearl buttons (well, and the small wind was present, too.)

Here is the story:
One snowy night she desired tender memories. She looked at me in Paris and toward the end of October. Then she gave a small jump in some circular freshness. Slowly lifting a pretty name, I saw she was not thinking of apricots. The creature will refresh her when tears are rising. I hope foolishly a few moments. My own pleasure graces in solemn fascination.
- I though -