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The Land Unsown

Ruth Biene / 16 min.

The sound of a dead tree, the root hitting the gallery floor.
My upper body is covered with clay. I walk towards the stairs, down to the people.
The cracking sound of dry twigs.
I plant the dead tree in a heap of soil. Facing the tree I stomp a rhythm with my feet, opening my arms and legs.
A heart beat...with a shaking noise from my skirt.
I turn around, sit down on my knees and open my dark red skirt, which reveals a host of snail shells. I shake the shells in my hands and throw them on the ground towards the audience.
The rhythm of dicing. The clicking noise of the shells on the floor.
I stand up, open my hand and reveal a dead leaf. A small green sprout is breaking out of it.
I show it to the audience. A woman is tries to grab it.
I close my hand and walk away.