| Some dreams are as restless as their dreamers. As whenever the dream is involved in madness, it will be more beautiful and more capable to take risk. There is a dense gaiety that does not go to sleep alone, as in sleep, there are countless fortunes. One is only requested to set those creatures free and watch them as they look for the road's signs and the soul's companions. There are many souls that fly over like pigeons. They have the right to coo. They have the wind, and the right to sing. Moreover, they are entitled to closely examine the mist of creation, like those who turns the image over as they wish. Perhaps, a few words are enough to give enough indications. There are some friends who meet frequently for the first time. It was not long after the photographer opened his chests, until madness took me to the utmost. There is something that distinguishes Salih AlAzzaz and tempts one to go towards the aesthetics of peril. There are some fruitful and dangerous encounters, but we are not like those who dream of escaping danger. There were some rendezvous which were not apriori planned apriori, but were accidentally designed. We enjoyed that, and the craving for discovery has infatuated us. We dream that danger would illuminate our paces and, with fertility, the sobbing of intimate dialogue between water and dust would bless us. It is like the lakes which thrive in the forests of thirst. On their banks grow many trees bearing fresh flowers that attract each other by the gravity of life. They breed like birds and say to some colorful and frightened butterflies: "come. This is your compassionate fire" It becomes cold for you and becomes images taken aback by the blueness of the horizon. In the shades, there are many elements eager to grow up as open tales. They soar like branches which draw the tree and lead the forest towards the rivers. When the idea of this experience rose up out its bed, I felt being over whelmed with the blue joy, and heard the horses of gaiety neighing with my little dreams. The text has its own fascination which is not stemmed from the sin. And the image has enough ability of beautiful revelation, to restore the spirit and burnish the gem of the body. When I saw my image / my time moments on the verge of tears at the hands of Qassim Haddad, I felt as if the desert plant was forcing its way out so as to shape banks and utter the laugh of life along a horizon of charming glee. It is permissible for the text to celebrate the images and to examine the word in the presence of the eloquent silence. It can also claim to be as a loving lap as the mother's compassion. It was an imaginary moment born on the footfalls that had never known the nature of sleep in the roads of old Fez. "We also have a space for the deeps dialogue to which we should listen, lest we are in attentively taken away from the joy" he said. "Our thirst should be lighted by the mirrors of the blue horizon.", I replied. From imagination to intimate whisper. From a cafe to another, from a suitcase to another, from an airport to another, from a body to another, we had the time to put our feet in a way new for both of us: the image - for the pleasure of eyesight has always been confiscated in the scene of the Arabic expression, and the text - for being the element of expression that most related to the different possibilities, and bearer of infinite meanings. Therefore we said, "Let's set fire ablaze in the furnaces and listen to the echo." Now we are in the howdah of dreams. We are in the midst of experiment that we love. We are in the distance accessible between the horizon and blueness where the image is but a sensual pleasure deep-rooted in the meaning. And the text is a spirited delight infatuated with changes. Now we are at a moment blended with aquamarine and raisins. The image puts its gold in the eyeball so that the balcony and the scene are overtaken. And when the word offers its scanty oil, the lamp will become more glowing and more revealing. We are now uncovering the beautiful moments, and go to the whiteness blended with saffron. We go too far in an impossible blueness upon which we are pleased to open the balcony of imagination, so as not to be said that some images have prevailed over the text, or a heart has triumphed upon love. Translated from the Arabic by :
Naeem ashoor |