15/9/2021 Two weeks at the Attic
I think the concept and feel of time have been collectively changed during the pandemic.
Everything is far away, constantly happening, and yet nothing is happening, but
everything is completely different. There is a feel of this great exhaustion and I ar-rive at the residency, a little bit rested yet still recovering from pretty severe burnout. The plan to distract myself with work and projects has carried this far.
But I’m running on fumes and I cannot lie anymore to myself and say that I’m not
affected by all the surrounding circumstances. Including all the mundane tragedies as well my holistic being is ready to fall apart.
The summer has been scorching and brutal UV light has whipped the landscapes for multiple weeks. I arrive to find two rooms designated for me; a bedroom where I can unload mypackage and a studio room that bathes in the evening sun.I need to write. I need to deal with a small mountain of things that were leftoverfrom the utter chaos of spring.
So I sit in the studio, start to move words around. I look at the trees and the leaves as they dance with the breeze which provides some relief from the unprecedented heat.
After two days I’m finished, and I merge from the studio to pet the cats, make dinner, have coffee and conversation. This is what I’ve been waiting for and what always seems to be the most important aspect of any socialized existing; just being together, sharing time and space. Not doing anything but doing the most important thing - maintaining.
Maintaining yourself, your functions, and your social relationships.
The work also happens there, beyond schedule, beyond structure. In the stupid jokes, coffee stains, threads the unwind under cat scratches, in cold leftovers...
I feel I can breathe a bit better. The shallow tightness which has found a home inmy tissues has relented and receded. The cat purrs under my hand, sometimesgrazes my skin with claws if the stimulation is too much. There are more things I want to do. I pick up few different impulses which I wantto follow. Go filming by the lake, edit old materials and try to make some sense oflast year's actions.
I write a love letter, to someone, not to anyone, to everyone. It includes wishes,
whispers, illusions, and futility. I cover the letters, they become knots and I weavedreams into a visual puzzle.I want to reveal myself sincerely and completely, yet still disappear totally, hide inform and aesthetic. In the end, I leave the letter to the residency.
Objectively two weeks is not a long time.
I wish I could stay and experiment with impulses and follow each subject of obsession that arises, but I need to leave.
Summer is giving in to the first glimpses of autumn. I cannot stay this curve of time forever.
Artist in Residence 19.7.–1.8.2021