I clearly recall the image of the cracks that signal the collapse of the ice, but the sound escapes me. The women of the Yukon say that...

I suspect my transformation began the moment I submerged myself in the sea. I wasn’t aware of it until I saw the prints of Yves Klein: women’s stamps impressed upon white canvases, bodies revealed in a beautiful synthetic pigment. People say the colour belongs to men. I think it is more appropriate for females, because women, as I once read, are made of water. And it seems to me like seawater, which cures all. For me, it soothes doubt. It ignites sadness and anguish, what Carla Faesler once...

I hear words of anguish, “whys” yelled at the heavens, others screamed beneath the Seas. Mourning what we nearly see. Is it all because...