Before the Return — On the Threshold Between Withdrawal and Return

There is a moment we all know and for which we have no word.

The instant just before the return.

The body has withdrawn — into itself, into silence, to the edge of consciousness. The world is still there, somewhere behind a membrane of exhaustion or grief or simply: the need to go inward. And it has not yet come back. It lies at the threshold. It breathes. It waits — not for something external, but for itself.

This work holds exactly that moment.

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The Figure at the Edge

The figure in **"Before the Return"** lies curled at the edge of a surface. The head is lowered, the face — as with all figures in the series — without features. Not because there is no face, but because the face is not what matters here. What counts is the posture: this complete, dignified surrender to one's own weight.

Below the figure: its reflection. Not distorted, not altered — but identical, mirrored in water or in a surface that thinks water. Two bodies that are one. Two states that exist simultaneously.

The upper body: the present. The lower: the interior. That which one does not see when looking at someone from the outside.

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The Philosophy of the Threshold

The philosopher Arnold van Gennep described in 1909 the concept of **liminality** — the state of the in-between, the transition between two states that belongs to neither. The threshold state is not a deficiency. It is a space of its own.

Victor Turner, who developed van Gennep's thought further, called this space **"communitas"** — a place beyond social structure, where the self can reorder itself. Not through action, but through silence. Not through decision, but through being.

The figure in this work is in exactly this state. It has not fallen. It has not failed. It has withdrawn — consciously, completely, with a dignity that is only possible when one has stopped explaining oneself.

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The Reflection as a Second Consciousness

What does it mean that the figure is reflected?

In psychology, one speaks of the **"doppelgänger motif"** — the encounter with the other self that one does not normally see. The self that one is when no one is watching. The self that plays no role.

The reflection in this work is not an echo. It is a simultaneity. Above: the body in the world. Below: the body within itself. Both are true. Both are necessary. And between them: the line of the surface — sharp, horizontal, unrelenting — as a boundary between outside and inside, between appearance and essence.

This line is the threshold. And the figure lies precisely upon it.

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Porcelain as the Material of the Threshold

The figures of **The Invisibles** are made of matte porcelain — or more precisely: they appear to be. This materiality is not accidental. Porcelain is the material of simultaneity: hard and fragile, cold and warm, permanent and transient. It absorbs light rather than reflecting it. It holds silence.

In this work, the porcelain is particularly present. The figure does not shine. It does not glow. It simply is — in a grey tone that is neither warm nor cold, that knows neither day nor night. A tone that says: here, time has stopped.

That is the tone of the threshold.

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Before the Return — Not After the Withdrawal

The title is deliberately chosen. Not **"In Withdrawal"** — that would be a state of distance. Not **"After the Return"** — that would be a state of restoration. But: **"Before the Return"**.

This is the moment of greatest tension. The body is ready. Energy is gathering. But nothing has been decided yet. Everything is still possible. The world is still outside — and the interior has its full space.

It is the moment when one is most fully oneself.

This moment is rare. We usually skip it — out of duty, out of fear, out of habit. We return before we were truly away. We stand up before we have truly lain down.

This work pauses. It says: stay a moment longer. Here. At the threshold. Before you return.

For what you bring back depends on how long you stayed.