In the last few months, I have been intensively socializing with Jose Saramago. I bring his manuscripts to bed, have lunch with him, breakfast as well. Pictures he composes into sentences have the effect as if he is cutting my skin with a scalpel, incising my vessels and penetrating into the red blood cell, and the other ones too. They circle around my body stabbing into the soul. I’m powerless over that beauty. And I’m scared that it will divide me in half… those who have followed his signs in letter formations know that. To my “words friend”, who brought this treasure to my life, I have made a Blimunda doll – the character from the book “Baltasar and Blimunda” (“Memorial do convento” in Portuguese) as a memorial to all those persecuted, misunderstood, in front of their time, and those all-seeing people, who have been so groundlessly condemned just because they were different and they followed their dream…

Posljednjih mjeseci intenzivno se družim s Jose Saramagom. Nosim
njegove rukopise u krevet, ručam s njime, doručkujem. Slike koje
satavlja u rečenice kao medicinskim skalpelom izrezuju mi kožu,
zarezuju žile i prodiru u crvena krvna zrnca, a i ona druga. Kruže mi
tijelom  i postaju mojom dušom. Nemoćna sam od te ljepote. I bojim se,
raspolovit će me. Taj osjećaj poznaju oni koji su slijedili njegove znakove u
rasporedu slova. Prijateljici riječi, Rajni, koja mi je donijela ovo blago u
život, izradila sam Blimundu- junakinju knjige Uspomene na samostan, kao spomen svim onim proganjanima, neshvaćenima, ispred svojeg
vremena. Ljudima svevidima, koje su tako bezrazložno osudili i
satrli,  samo zato što su  slijedili svoj san…