I went to the pottery workshop last night
I saw thousands of jars that were eloquent and silent
Each of them were talking to me in the present tense:
Where is the potter, the buyer or the seller? (Omar Khayyam [11th-12th Century])
How could I summon the mass of absence, of memories, from the heart of the theater? While I was facing a place empty of people, where the worn objects were the only survivors of an entire era?
Just as Omar Khayyam speaks of the language of the jars in the workplace and hears them.
How to depict this delicate, existential aspect of existence?