For each traveler - Man, there is a past, a future and the present – the crossing – the Bridge. These two directions towards plus infinity and minus infinity are also part of an existing bridge. Polarity arises when the act of building is recorded. From this moment on it can be a tool that ties / weaves together shores, people, events, memories, the way synapses unite neurons to create something complex, something complex that transforms a new born into an adult. Something that changes polarity when it disappears.
We came up with the idea after we saw the river and we finally went 70 km round it (we had no other choice but to cross two trans-Dniester borders) to see Pohrebea church. It was then that we desired to unite the shores, to become «one of theirs». What for? To be able to cross the water any time we wanted, to get to know each other, to recreate the bondage.
The idea kept following us. We were tempted by beautiful shapes and grand scale. The bridge materialized in two modest benches placed simultaneously on the opposite shores of the Dniester river facing each other, each under the shade of a tree. Each bench has two sitting elements joined with two bolts on two side supports carved out of a whole. In this case, duality is born out a complete whole the way the shores of the Dniester were at some moment in history - a plain, the nails were part of an iron piece and we were once one people.
Resumed from a feature report (1) about the other shore: After two tears we found that the bridge was crowded on both sides, teeming with people and life, on long summer days. Constantly crossed by people who loved each other and carved their oaths in wood and set camp near the bridge or threw their fishing rods in the water to catch the big fish.
Resumed from a feature report (2) about leaving. On a scorching Friday after-noon the bridge no longer existed. Both feet had vanished. They had simultaneously appeared and disappeared. It was the year we left Criuleni as well.
Resumed from a feature report (3) about a spring without the Bridge. With a mild brutality nature had assaulted everything we had invented, supposed, sculpted or aimed at. There is nothing left. It is so wonderful to realize that nothing lasts and that everything returns to what it had once been. I wonder how many layers are spread beneath our feet? How many of us crossed over for us to become ourselves?