I didn’t take any pictures. I photographed the shed a year later, when the texts written with white crayon on the greyish-brownish rough planks almost faded away, became hardly legible.
Element of elements. A space of mind. A shed. A head. Whole of the universe. So run around it. See every single side. Left. Right. Back. Front. And in reverse. Climb the blue ladder. Watch from above. (Clouds of moss on the starless sky of tar.) Don’t dig a ditch. Ground’s dry and hard. It’s useless effort, don’t even start. Interior? What’s in there? Silent secret? Dark mystery? Open the door and enter Let in emotions, people, noise and glare You will get stuck there as here you were. Better look carefully through slits and holes, Better imagine, guess, consider, conjure…

A year ago the text was sharp though it didn’t shine, didn’t glare… I propped the ladder against the shed, a bit higher than the shed and still blue – in the past we used it to climb the attic, and the trapdoor was painted blue, too. I don’t know what I write about it for, the blueness of the ladder was of no importance – it could only either repel or attract; most probably it did both, because only a few people decided to climb it and see the clouds of moss. Around the lawn in front of the house I placed “boxes for books”. Not regularly, in groups of two and three. I dug into the ground thin trunks of wilted hazel and fixed to them wooden crates painted not garishly: bark brown, warm grey, navy blue, creamy white. The blue ladder suited them well… In each box I put one book. “Treatises on wood” were near the chopping site. “Treatises on water” by the old very small waterhole hidden among tall grass blades. “Treatises on earth and metal” at the huge ash tree, not high above the ground, so one had to squat. “Treatises on fire” near the garage where the central stove was hidden. “Treatises on plastic” a bit outside and not in the wooden crate but in the plastic one, however not on a plastic tube. And “Treatises on air” were hovering in the boxes hung on a perch fixed between two trees. People came. Friends, and our friends’ friends whom we didn’t know. They looked around. They read a little. They listened to the concert of elementary music (or music of elements) for recorder and drums. They went away before the dusk. Right after their disappearing I collected the books not to let the element of moisture do them any harm. The next day I dismantled the “boxes for books”. I left only the perch, I don’t know why… Just then I realised I had taken no pictures. Let the momentariness be praised.