My Home, Home of the Other

I'm (re)drawing my identity every day, again and again. With the knowledge I remember or I forgot, with the languages I know, with the smells of my memories, with the fears of my experience, with the sounds of the wind, with the noise of the streets, trough every word I read or write, trough every line I drow, trough every story I listen... 

But before all else, I'm drawing my identity through 'Home'. Home not just like a place, not just like a house, but more like tradition, or collective memory... like the tradition of Other I meet, Homes of Other I visit. The feeling of being Home everywhere, and at the same time feeling desolate. And all the time feeling like in between. Searching. Winding. Alone, but with the Other, together. What a big oxymoron. 
Again, and again. 

(You can check more about the project 'Pink Gettho', installation 'The Blue Toilet' here:

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