Dancers

"When I am asked why they are called DANCERS, I imagine a blind floating in space with a music that will never be heard by anyone but itself. I like to think of them as the transmutation from object to drawing. And I say transmutation because the lines form the image and also represent the body that is leaving the object behind. As the drawing is born on a dark plane, the blind dies in my hand.

It is interesting to see sandpaper as a solitary black hole: it sucks up what it touches, but lets us see its new possession. And it does not forgive, which gives the work determination. Sometimes I wish I could erase an extra line, but then I understand that the blind has no mistakes; it is only the dance of its body with the hint of its voids.

I look up and see in the night a sandpaper taking away the hours. There will be the strokes. Here I will be, in front of the table, in front of the drawing, in front of a black background, in front of the dancers."