performance. objects. words.
I am not a consistent one in my artistic expressions. I wander around in my shabby scratchbook of a repertoire of media (that is text, costume, performance, installation, object and audio – quite everything except painting, music, photography and film). But I am consistent in my twisted thoughts, in a way that they always are somewhat off. I am consistent in my search for morphosis and continuing processual becoming , I seek a position that let’s you see the world upside down – or just very very close or very very far away. a position that even let’s me see my own organs from inside.
I choose the expressions of my projects liberately and instinctively – there is no system behind. They just seem to offer themselves with their different qualities and I take the one that is flirting to me in the most convincing way.
I am not a conceptual one and in times like these, it seems that this is an almost monstruous uttering. For I actively seek the moments that even surprise myself, moments of loss of power in my own art work. Moments of complete failure. Moments where the brain goes off without me and I alone remain in a lost spot while the brain, the body, the knowledge and the material have a party of their own. Similarly my mode of working is the mode of layering – like a painter gently applies layers of oil over layers of oil seeking to shadow and enlighten the depths of their interplay I follow echoes.
Why do I seek what others might call incompetence? Because humans have had enough power. It’s time to let go of it – or at least loosen the grip around the sceptre that bears the powers of logocentrism, utilitarism and anthropocentrism. And I am far from willing to reproduce in my doings the gloomy effects that sprawl and sprout from that paradigmatic trinity. This all is not about us. It’s the story of our planet and her materials and living beings, they all will – as all things do – end once. It’s her story.