Is it easy to decide to move from an everyday gesture of stroking a head to a sacred act in which the I is lost, and the depersonalized mother caresses the depersonalized child?
When I began walking, I was thinking only about wanting to become a brave artist. When I finished, I realized that I had not done it for the sake of making a performance, but to allow myself so much more. It was the boundary between the self concerned with the external, and the self who had skinned her knees to blood. At that moment, art as a concept had no meaning at all.
A table and a chair. On the chair — a person, holding texts from online conversations (both sad and joyful). Above the table, a sheet of plastic film is stretched. On the table stands a boiling pot; steam gathers on the film, dripping down into the pot and onto the person, onto the sheets of text. The person reads aloud.
An installation and performance based on a text by Ch. Bukowski. The text is set to music through the principle of accentuation, and similarly translated into movement.