Wearing a plain light violet dress, a spot light on me, I stand next to a wall, holding a glass of red wine in my hand.
I talk to the public. But for everybody in the room the language is unknown. Nobody understands a word. The language is created spntaneously in my head. Sometimes it is soft, sometimes urgent, sometimes fast and slow, a kind of an abstract concert ensues.
In between I drink the red wine, but really slow and with my mouth closed. The wine is painting pictures on my dress.