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cristopher (for an ungulate curatorship)
June the 9th 2015
suddenly, as soon as lee was buried, the new vampire raised (blessed kid: he sucks even when there’s nothing to suck): cristopher.
Also known as christo.
His mum, whom I’ve known for a year, and knows me very well too, isn’t coming back.
A first-time-birther abandonment? I don’t know, I don’t know anything at that point.
I begin to learn the first things about deers in that exact moment.
I’m the curator, absorbed by many cultural and artistic projects, I don’t have time for anything else.
But I live in these woods (in borca di cadore, inside the former eni village).
And here, for at least 10 months, I’ve been feeding the fox, in the exact spot where he’s now lays on his belly.
If, then, at the end of that first day, I’d decided not to take him in, the little one would never have reached the second one.
Thus, for those who believe in life, and not death, there wasn’t a choice to make, but rather a thing to do.
All the other peculiar knowledge (and ingnorance) come AFTER.
All that knowledge and ignorance, of those who have felt the need to explain to me (often without knowing anything about it) what is nature and what is animal, was going to come after death, in this case:
These claims where belated, short-sighted, and even irresponsible.
Nature isn’t certainty of death, but possibility of life.
Reality isn’t a scheme, or a notion.
And history is an action (in duration: few historians know this: few historians are in-action).
In this particular story, when faced with the factual truth that I have now summarised, every other consideration is secondary, schematic, childish.
Life is an adjective, wild in an adjective.
The choice is care. Curatorship.
We will tell the whole story, eventually, further down the line, and we’ll tell it well.
And we could call it: a way of curating.
Seeing as it won’t be a cute bambi tale.
(there are more than enough little, trivial books on animals and woods, we’re on the other side, the opposite one).
Rather, it will be an essay on war. The war of fixed opinions.
A metaphor of curatorship, of an idea of curatorship.
We’re working on it.
But, like always, this will, too, is up to Cristopher.
Who is, now, nine months old.
gianluca d’incà levis, march 2016, borca di cadore