Pictures by Charlotte Danielse.

Still focused on the birds around me,

the crying doves mostly, taking the shape of my drawings, without mouths, trying to find a way to speak,

trying to be free.

Back to Morocco, back to my childhood,

full of language's sounds in my head, and putting them into the sculptures. 

The fruits are hanging, revealing an identity.

The place is a playground,

where I juggle with the language,

where I meet again my innocence,

and above, I see everything from my balcony.