MANIFESTO
ZERRÉ is what resides, feeling like a point in the infinity of space. They stand upon the translucent roots of non-attachment and even without desiring it, they evaporate, traveling like the air. They are a dream of becoming matter and returning somewhere or nowhere, like smoke. They are present in being and a vestige because they were. They appear to reveal themselves and disappear to leave traces, as there is pleasure in being and growing in that moment, but they find greater pleasure in absence. They become volatile in the resonance of fortuitous moments, collecting them to transform. They are a multitude within one, bearing the incalculable duty of creating. A walker awaiting encounters with the embracing forms of the landscape that will shelter them. They wait in the lull of silence, and in it, they find the perfect haven to incubate creative delusions. They are made of the past and treasure it, bringing it back to decipher the enigma of the enigma. They are an island in the midst of the storm. Incandescent light of a soul that finds, after losing everything. They cross the bridge from the real to the imaginary, returning to life after knowing they were dead. It is existence condensed into a cry and the whisper of five letters that metamorphose. They knew themselves in fullness and, exhausted by it, emptied themselves to rebuild. Without forgetting, they leave everything behind to continue. They manifest, but are not just the repetition of a face or a voice; they are the ceaseless drawing of the ideas that set a body in motion, standing up to materialize the immaterial. They are a laboratory of the intangible, with the hope of translating formlessness into deeds. They are a mirror in front of another mirror, the infinite multiplication of the gaze. Their body is an excuse and a place. They are being oneself, which is everything and nothing. They are a mobile that breathes without suffocation. They are the manifestation of the impulse to create for the mere sake of creating, knowing that without such a thing, there would be no purpose. They await the right moment to reveal themselves, weaving juxtapositions of light and shadows while imagining the anomaly in the midst of a gray sea. They are the nonsense that wishes to abandon all pretension, surrendering to the coherent incoherence of actions. They are and do, in time and with it.
They are a palimpsest.