Das erste Jahr Babybuddha jetzt auf:


On his way to having his diapers changed, the baby takes along a small empty candy box, which he now tries to open. It’s hard for him to stick his fingers into the small opening on the side, the box keeps falling out of his hands. He turns over on his side, grabs the box again, turns back, and starts anew. On and off he chews at a corner of the box, until the cardboard softens, then he shoves his fingers under the edge of the top until it lifts a little (basically he doesn’t want to really open the box; rather, he wants to reach into its insides and dismantle, rather than understand, its construction; or, he wants nothing, and his concentrated activity, to which we impute an objective, is nothing more than being-his-own-self in a random thing). Then the box lies forgotten off to the side above his head. Our baby is speaking, his modulation is strong, animated, rarely repeating itself. Silence follows. And his gaze, directed at us (while we put on his horizontally striped tights). Someone is looking at us who knows the difficulties that are involved. Who recognizes his problem with the box, the problem of factually commenting on it. Who could solve everything, but can’t. Who has to wait. Then Someone is gone again, drowned in his own gaze, which welled up just a moment ago.



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