In Plato's writings, love is sometimes described as the desire to recognize once more the part of ourselves we have lost.
As Rilke imagined it, it can also be a profound intimacy in which two solitudes protect one another without wounding one another.
As if you are not seeing a soul for the first time — only meeting it for the first time in this life.
In this work, too, I thought about our alternative lives,
about the other possibilities of living in different universes.
Who would we be in another life? How would we live? Who would we love?
And if our paths truly did cross in another dimension,
would we still recognize each other here, in this life?
The title of this work is You.
Because love is at its centre — but not a flat, single-layered love.
More like that old sense of familiarity, of likeness, that rises in you the moment you meet a stranger.
In a café, in a restaurant, passing on the street…
As if the moment were happening for the first time, and yet as if your soul had known it long before.
Perhaps, in another dimension, these two souls belonged to the same time.
But in this version, they are not together.
They meet only for a brief moment.
And yet, they recognize each other;
…..
Perhaps this is exactly what love sometimes is.
You love someone not to possess them, but because you remember them from somewhere — because you see a part of yourself in them.
In the person before you, you sense an essence very close to your own.
Another form of the same light, the same wound, the same longing.
That is why, here, "you" is not only a way of addressing someone.
It also means that deep intimacy the soul recognizes.
Perhaps this is not the first time I have seen you.
Perhaps it is only the first time in this life.
And in fact, in all universes, you have always meant "me."
As Rilke imagined it, it can also be a profound intimacy in which two solitudes protect one another without wounding one another.
As if you are not seeing a soul for the first time — only meeting it for the first time in this life.
In this work, too, I thought about our alternative lives,
about the other possibilities of living in different universes.
Who would we be in another life? How would we live? Who would we love?
And if our paths truly did cross in another dimension,
would we still recognize each other here, in this life?
The title of this work is You.
Because love is at its centre — but not a flat, single-layered love.
More like that old sense of familiarity, of likeness, that rises in you the moment you meet a stranger.
In a café, in a restaurant, passing on the street…
As if the moment were happening for the first time, and yet as if your soul had known it long before.
Perhaps, in another dimension, these two souls belonged to the same time.
But in this version, they are not together.
They meet only for a brief moment.
And yet, they recognize each other;
…..
Perhaps this is exactly what love sometimes is.
You love someone not to possess them, but because you remember them from somewhere — because you see a part of yourself in them.
In the person before you, you sense an essence very close to your own.
Another form of the same light, the same wound, the same longing.
That is why, here, "you" is not only a way of addressing someone.
It also means that deep intimacy the soul recognizes.
Perhaps this is not the first time I have seen you.
Perhaps it is only the first time in this life.
And in fact, in all universes, you have always meant "me."
“In Plato, love is sometimes told as the longing to recognise a part of ourselves we have lost. As Rilke thought, it can be two solitudes protecting each other without wounding. As if you do not see a soul for the first time — you simply meet it, for the first time, in this life.”
“In this work I thought about our alternative lives — who we would be, how we would live, whom we would love in other universes. And if our paths truly crossed in another dimension: here, in this life, would we still recognise each other?”
“There is love at the centre of this work — but not a flat, single-layered love. Rather, that old familiarity that appears inside you the moment you meet a stranger. In a café, in a restaurant, passing on the street — as if the moment is lived for the first time, yet the soul has known it long before.”
“That is why 'you' does not only mean you. It means the deep familiarity a soul remembers. Perhaps I did not see you for the first time. Perhaps I am only seeing you for the first time in this life — and in every universe, you were already 'me'.”
“In this work I thought about our alternative lives — who we would be, how we would live, whom we would love in other universes. And if our paths truly crossed in another dimension: here, in this life, would we still recognise each other?”
“There is love at the centre of this work — but not a flat, single-layered love. Rather, that old familiarity that appears inside you the moment you meet a stranger. In a café, in a restaurant, passing on the street — as if the moment is lived for the first time, yet the soul has known it long before.”
“That is why 'you' does not only mean you. It means the deep familiarity a soul remembers. Perhaps I did not see you for the first time. Perhaps I am only seeing you for the first time in this life — and in every universe, you were already 'me'.”