The forest supposes the hidden. It is the simultaneous encounter, the immersion in a particular vegetation, what is not seen at once, the loss of a static position. It is the audacity of knowing how to enter where there is no horizon but the repetition of the discontinuous. My forest, Alejandra Pizarnik wrote: accumulate desires in ungrateful plants/ refer what is yours/ in solemn greenery/ and then ten horses will come/ to throw their tails to the black wind/ they will move the leaves/ their wet manes/ and the square will come/ rounding verses.
Loson presents the image of the forest as if it belonged to a reminiscence of dreams, that also resorts to those figures accumulated in the retina after listening to legendary constructions of children's stories. A forest and the works that accompany it, residues, stains, like a hidden body that no longer persists. Or the possible encounters of his journey, as traces of a narrative that invites us to build using our own story. She installs hers works in the form of scraps, on a table, a sort of cartography of dreams; the material -mainly charcoal- sharpens this reading. On the one hand, it seems to come from the very nature of this primitive image and on the other hand, it points out to us the care we must take in front of what is fragilely forgotten, as in the delicacy of not passing to carry these drawings, which are placed in a defenseless moment in front of the blank sheet of paper. Loson seems to take us to a state close to childhood, with his memories that come and go like the animals that he places uncomfortably in this context, and that seem to remind us that forgetting is part of the construction of stories.