Cut through

Turning, turning around and back and forth, inside a labyrinth dominated by blackish smoke and penetrating suffocating smell. Women and men working hard in the heat spread by big self made ovens, where pots are baking inside a cotton cocoon. Open spaces filled up by pots, cley puddles, ovens and people; mind your steps! In narrow streets, people pass each other without touching, yelling or excusing, demanding in a gracious way their body space. Even the old woman over there, sitting on the border between street and open space, varnishing pots, is aware of her body and the space she occupies; with dignity but without the feeling to obstruct, simply because she already posesses this particular place. No running or rushing inside the labyrinth, still going strong in the time it takes, not trying to change it. A Rembrandt or Caravaggio would be estonished by the marevellous play of light, embedded in this somehow surrealistic decor, that seems to be disconnected with modern life so close by.