I want to hear women bark I want to hear them spit, growl, howl and talk I want to hear the depth of their voices, their deep throats I want to hear dark sounds from bellies and bones I want to hear a smoky voice, full voice, deep screams and rumbling I want to hear many women together I want to hear their voices in unison I want to hear a thousand women roar and scream Their voices becoming a rumbling dark thunder A thousand rumbling women
I want to go out into the dark I want to leave my house and go out I want the darkness to engulf me I want the night to be dark, black, blue, silent and very very deep I want my eyes to get used to the darkness I want my eyes to be wide open I want all the blue light of the night to fill my eyes I want the darkness to enter my wide pupils, my retina, to pierce my skull, to enter my body through my wide open holes I am wide open
I want to touch I want to touch the world around me I want to stick my finger deep into the ground I want to pierce the layers of dirt with my hand I want my hand to be dirty I want the dirt to reach far up my arm I want my whole arm deep into the soil I want the waters and moist of the earth on my skin
I don’t want to leave any traces I don’t want to leave any threads I don’t want my footprints to stiffen, solidify like concrete and leave hardened wounds in the earth I don’t want my body to dry out, Stiffen like dead stick and leave painful stings every time you try to move I don’t want my thoughts and ego to be swirling around like ghosts never ready to leave I don’t want my stories to never change
I want to be a roar I want to be a dark rumbling roar full of life A roar that comes from deep in my throat, from the depth of my belly A dark scream from deep inside A rumble from a deep, moist, dark crack or cave And there will be no echo
“Layers of Memory” (2019), handwoven textile, linen 85 cm x 650 cm, words, vinyl cut lettering, 85 cm x 450-650 cm. Typesetting by Nina Serebrenick.
Lay down on layers of earth, layers of dust, layers of sand, layers of peat, layers of roots, layers of clay, layers of decay, layers of minerals, layers of gas, layers of oil, layers of waste, layers of water, layers of stone, layers of bone, layers of bodies, layers of memory, layers of guilt, layers of ash, layers of magma, layers of heat, layers of snow, layers of ice, layers of darkness, layers of shadow, layers of ghosts, layers of secrets, layers of death, layers of history, layers of footprints, layers of traces, layers of thread, layers of time.
3 2 1 zero and beyond. Time is irrelevant! 1 billion years ago I emerged from darkness. Wet skin, damp skin and then dry from the sun. Two legs I walked the earth, the sea was no longer my home. What kind of home sickness do I feel from a home I can never return to? A child is still born out of water. The hissing sound, ”ssssssh”, calms us because it reminds us of the sound we hear when we are floating on our mothers water. Mother earths belly is our deep seas. In my deep unconscious I can feel her. Deep, dark, moist, wet, no light. Is it a longing? I don’t think so. More like an emergence, a source of thought. Consciousness, I don’t know. Never to forget. Remember. Remember when you were floating. Light glimmers. I have never been very deep in the waters. Or have I? My ancestors so far back that they were fish. Fish ancestors. Slippery, slimy living in the slam and mud. No hands, no feet. What were you thinking, getting out of there?
“3 2 1 zero and beyond” (2017), mono-print on textile, 260 x 380 cm. Solo exhibition at Lokaal 1b, Amsterdam.
To dare to listen. Listen dear. Inner ear. Is it words we are talking about? Words, worlds. In another language, where ”to name” (something) also means ”to shatter” (something). Shatter to pieces or shatter the unspeakable! You know, I think. Shatter to pieces, destroying cultures. Pieces like sawdust, floating in the sea, taken by the wind. Like seeds they will sprout somewhere else. If you die hard enough you will become alive again. Or? Becoming dark. Seeds die and become something from memory. Memory seeds. Seeds of memory named and shattered, spread out to sprout again somewhere else. To listen to the wind, whatever, cliché. What happens if we shatter the world? Big bang, dust glimmering because they are stars. Big ball of sawdust, dust-ball, really big cloud of dust. Just, to do it all over again. Blessed be the west, destroying cultures and making it alive again. The way we treat nature = the way we treat culture? I don’t know. I’m just a dreamer. No, not romantic enough to be a dreamer. The dream of the earth. To dare to listen. I dare me to listen. Me dare you to listen. Listen to what? Are we talking, ooops! Are we listening to sounds? Stop talking.
“3 2 1 zero and beyond” (2017), mono-print on textile, 120 x 750 cm. Solo exhibition at Lokaal 1b, Amsterdam.