Some//times, it runs through our fingers, smooth as water. We run and run an cannot catch up. But at other//times, it passes slowly, the minutes ticking by, as we’re waiting, waiting.
Questions, not answers. And in the end, where does she go?
This series is about Waiting as a process. Waiting itself, waiting for something, waiting for someone, perhaps. Waiting as immovability. Waiting for life to finally begin, waiting for Godot. Waiting as depression, apathy. Hope stirs and is crushed again and again. Fingers twitch impatiently, boots stir on cobblestones, until patiently waiting is not an option anymore. Waiting becomes restlessness. Lips are bitten, nails scratch on the ever-present pocket watch. Tick. tick. tick. tick.
Questions, not answers. And in the end, where does she go?
