Holes

Fragment from her diary: ‘The old man is not at home, his couch is empty. A blanket lies on the exact spot where he’s always sitting, on the couch, in front of the TV, arms folded, looking sad and grumpy. I peep through his window, wondering why he leaves his curtains open. I can’t take his photograph without being seen, losing who he is when I watch him secretly. Going inside his house will be the only way to come close to a natural portrait, a comforting and disturbing image at the same time. Whether it’s early morning, late afternoon, or even way after the middle of the night, when I come home from the cinema; he is there, the old man, arms folded, sitting on his couch, watching TV. Curtains open.’