I don’t understand.
It is so vast that it surpasses all to understand.
Understanding is always limited.
But to not understand may have no boundaries.
I feel like I’m much more complete when I don’t understand.
To not understand, the way I speak is a gift.
To not understand, but not as a simple-minded.
The good thing is to be innovative and not understand.
It’s a strange blessing, like having madness without being crazy.
It’s a meek disinterest, it’s a sweetness of stupidity.
But every now and then the restlessness comes:
text by Clarice Lispector “The passion according to G.H. “
“so I paint…” (small insertion by Adriana Jardim Mayr)

The secret harmony of disharmony: I want not what is done but what is still being done.
My unbalanced brushstrokes are the luxury of my silence. I paint by aerial acrobatic
pirouettes – I paint for deeply wanting to talk. Although painting only gives me a big measure of silence.
adaptation by Adriana Jardim Mayr, from the original text by Clarice Lispector “The passion according to G.H.”

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