Body Feint

Look over there, touch over here. One eye on the fish, the other on the cat. Perhaps every movement contains a small act of misdirection, not to deceive, but to make way for what has not yet happened.

In soccer, a feint suggests one direction and delivers another. In life, perhaps we do the same without realizing it: while we look after the fish, the cat remains on the prowl. Attention divides, the path forks, and what seemed simple takes on the architecture of a labyrinth.

Fernanda Tonissi seems to have carried that old cunning into the air. Her head and skateboard point north; her hips and hand seem to be conspiring toward the south. I do not know whether it is a feint, a dance, or a small glitch in the laws that organize the world. I would rather leave it unresolved.

The red bar almost closes the photograph. Almost! The eye returns, insists, searches for the destination of the jump. And there is a strange certainty: it will get there. We do not know where, but we know it will.

Perhaps that is the condition of every journey. We move toward something that does not yet exist for us while passing through the seasons that do. Every step can be a detour; every detour can conceal a direction. Sometimes, the destination is not a line but a succession of possibilities.

That is why I keep looking. Fernanda is still in the air. As long as her body has not touched the ground, every path remains possible.