doll – Magis Dolls

To a Friend

magipersic — Mon, 10 Sep 2018 15:05:42 +0000

Everybody should have a friend. At least one. Someone for themselves. With whom one can be silent and hunt
snowflakes. With whom one becomes and ends. Who can be found within oneself and in whom one is found. Someone
who makes the sun shine brighter and in whose eye universes circulate. Someone who lasts longer than a drop of rain
on the nose, whose touch is like dance of Gods, tenderness like cotton, breath like waves.
Yesterday I met such a friend. He was mine as much as his own. He had the cover of longing and hands dipped into
painting colors. He smelled like southern winds and smiled like a child. He was alone, as much as I was alone. And we
were alone together. He woven into me, and I overwhelmed. By blueness. By depth. Deep. Blue. Night. And then he
carried me from my dream into a vision: I saw them clearly. These small boats, canoes on the surface of his depth. Poets,
painters, writers, sculptors, dancers, singers, as they dip their brushes, quills, voices and movements into this abundance
and reshape it into their work. Separated by boats, and connected by living water. And I saw myself among them;
playful, timeless, protected, playing with incidences and forms. I create a doll from his very essence. From salt. Doll of
salt! It is my gift to him, to my biggest Friend. My favorite toy, with silent mouth that talks through silence. A rag doll.
Inside her chest beats heart of soul.

It’s not that doll!

magipersic — Tue, 15 May 2018 06:31:24 +0000

Once I made a beautiful doll. The most beautiful. In fact, doll-installation. I wanted to give it to a friend. One of my sons said that I couldn’t give it to her, because she will break it. I did not listen to him. I gave her this artwork, doll, installation, myself.
And it is not true that she broke the doll, she broke my heart. Some other time I will listen to my son, one of my sons.

Saramago

magipersic — Thu, 08 Mar 2018 15:17:02 +0000

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…

Greetings!

magipersic — Sun, 25 Feb 2018 11:14:40 +0000

Welcome traveler! I was waiting for you, leave your handbag on the side next to your legs, take off your coat and have a tea with me. I will prepare it from plants that know the will of your heart and with their smell will take you to the forgotten corners of childhood and dreams. I will make for you a honeycomb in which there is always honey, a box for kisses when winter comes and amulet to protect you from vain wanderings. I will put a drop of serenity in the bottle of life, a pinch of joy, a little bit of wind and taste of the sea…And I will plant a few spring messengers in your soul, if you will let me. Welcome traveler to the castle of words and pictures, dolls and stories, Margareta greets you!

– museum night 2018 – A story about the sword of thruth