Sabine Zahn

Her walk begins not when she sets off, but rather by crossing the street on the other side of the tunnel. She says.
The space between us initially, like a bubble that I first dive into.
Cushioned, much softer that the body actually appears to me.
As it disappears between people.
The noise of her soles on the asphalt between the ten-storey blocks, as if she had high heels on.
Her neck in the collar of her jacket as if supported by a medical collar.
She goes close to cars. Cars – the holy cow of the private sphere in public space.
The ground here is damp, but underneath the surface of the new houses it is almost mouldy. She says. Her feet play with the ground.
Is it the fact that the other person is here that affects me with my reference point?
I only remember the place by reminding myself of my concentration on M., then the places appear too. As if through a lens.
But it also works the other way around. The woman with the dog. I am lying down, she passes by me just a few steps away, only looking at her dog.
I wanted to practice accompanying somebody.
What is told from one body to another about everyday life, spaces and movements?

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March, 2016