Livrée

Everything that protects me is measured in meters. I carry my life on slender legs, and the first leap must get me out of here. One second to decide whether to keep going. I’ll never know how many times I was let through. Artist’s Note To trust is to bridge a distance. You let someone come closer. Let them go a little further in. You give them a place they couldn’t have reached on their own—close to what matters, close to what can be touched. For the little goat, it’s a physical distance. Her legs can bridge it with a single leap. But once she’s close enough, what happens next no longer depends solely on her. I’m thinking about what we let into other people’s lives. Out of trust. Out of love. Because we want to build something together. We open a door, we give up a few meters, we entrust a space. It goes without saying. But as soon as we grant access, something changes. The other person may take care of that space. They may occupy it respectfully. They may also venture further into it than we ever imagined. We can choose to create some distance. We cannot choose for the other person what they will do with that access.