There are many reasons why we travel: to know things , to flee, to search for the unexpected, to follow obstinately a footprint, a perfume, an allusion. We also travel in order to write. Feeling out of place, we shall find in nostalgia the feeling that brings us to the expression.
Poets and artists have done just this: abandoning their moroseness their home they have taken the path towards language. Often the journey becomes transhumance, movement between two or three places , following the seasons, just like the herds or flocks. This way a new sedentary lifestyle has been born, a displacement which temporarily owns different dwellings, never fixed.
There are people who travel without even moving from where they are, suspended by the address on an envelope; destined, in this way, to the meeting, by letter. ”This is my letter to the world”, wrote Emily Dickenson, from the comfort, protection of her father’s house, “who has never written back to me”. The letter, in her case, coincided with the secretly written poetry, thus protecting her pleasure.
In the «riverside»- Pilar Cossio’s book
pilar cossio – fotomontage 100 x 150 cm