D a n i e l    D a n i s

At 18 years old, I invited friends to visit an orphanage in Port-au-Prince, Haiti to work and enlarge a bedroom wing for the girls crammed into dormitories. Four boys and four girls from Quebec arrived to build the extension to the orphanage, and this is where my first journey into other worlds began in Haiti.
   I found my life so changed, that my thoughts of a religious nature were overturned on a windy, warm and humid night, similar perhaps to the start of humanity.  Dogs’ barks rose up above the island and were carried by the breeze onto the roof of the orphanage, to my hearing eyes, and I experienced a leap forward.
   It wasn’t the poverty that left a lasting impression, it was the realisation that the sacred and the profane – poetry and the real world – can truly co-exist, and with this came an awareness of the spherical polyphony of our perceptions of humanity and time.
   I saw my head move towards other horizons while still believing in the capacity of changing the world by the love written in the codes of religion.
I was a believer beyond the word; I was a believer even to want to change the body into light, the hands into a healer and the eyes into kindness.
   The island of Haiti reserved for me an invisible part, unknown to my daily self, but close to my nocturnal consciousness, as if I sensed that in the world an organic, imaginative and archaic strength was lying dormant.