Text & Textile — 10

The dance of the construction site... The plasterers we met last June returned for phase two of the project. I feel like I’m living in a ghost house, all the furniture and my rolls of fabric neatly covered in canvas and a thin layer of gypsum floating in the air. I sew in a small unheated corner of the house, the only closed place where plaster dust does not enter. I hear the plasterers moaning in the distance, they complain about everything and nothing, the ceilings are high, there are so many drywall corners (they say "iron corners"), it's as dark as in the ass of a bear, it never dries out!

After five o’clock, I'm surprised, with my index finger behind my gathering foot, that I'm still at the sewing machine. The sun suddenly disappears and I realize that it is time to stop.