Your skin is my canvas.
First detailed drawings.
Then you wipe it away.
From soft to hard.
At first henna is as soft as cream.
Then it becomes granular.
It dries in emotion.
All are actions which leave something behind.
Drawing in the space>
And on each other's skin.
Printing the body on the space.
Silent water, everything has a reason.
If I write on your back.
Let's leave that till the end.
You move your back, the henna reacts.
If you want it to remain you must keep still.
Keep still while it dries, otherwise it will crumble and fall off.
The grain falls, the print remains.
That is the effect of henna.
I don't want it to stop.
I can not give a time limit.
You leave it for what it is.
At most you direct the process.
As far as I'm concerned it is unending.
The impermanence of things is out of my hands.
The longer we don't occupy ourselves with domestic chores but live in the here and now, the longer this moment shall last.
Dirk Jan Jager