Empty space for speech

If I want to articulate in simple questions what this book is, I would say three short questions. "What is Romology?", "What is Gypsy, Roma Literature?", "Does Fine Art Have an Ethnic Space?" I do not think that these questions can be answered, but rather that there are primarily moral and aesthetic considerations along them, ones that can nuance, clarify, or question our relationship to the things of our world. When I decided to re-extract the manuscript on which my dissertation was based, to dust it down a little and turn it into a book, I trusted that I would do most of the writing by pasting my notes on the chapters and subchapters and reading the literature since then. The re-reading, on the other hand, has resulted in what we all know, yet we will be surprised if it happens. The text was not clear in many places, in many cases it was inaccurate, chattering or ominously concise, otherwise very similar to me. But what was specifically confusing: I didn’t agree with him everywhere. The elapsed time has produced this distance between me and me. Between us, and this distance, I looked at it, this unfilled place, this empty place at that moment. The text on paper is still-there-text, proof of its existence is a claim for a blank space below the letters. The text that appears on it is not-yet-there text, which is not even waiting for it to get there, but it is already aware of its existence, as a condition of its birth. I started writing this blank space. Not to fill or upload or bridge, not: but to seize this empty space, to formulate it somehow. Until eventually, it became a book that was barely similar to the one I started writing. Now there are letters on the pages, texts waiting to be mixed up, to be questioned, and to act like their predecessors - so to write on them.