“Submerged” (2021), handwritten text and handwoven textile, plain weave, linen, textile ink, 15 cm x various lengths from 6 – 30 meters. Installed at Amsterdam University Hospital, location AMC.

In my ear I have sleeping cells from long ago that were developed to listen to sound under water. I am also a fish, a sponge, a cell. I am many things and many times.


“Submerged” (2021), handwritten text and handwoven textile, plain weave, linen, textile ink, 15 cm x various lengths from 6 – 30 meters. Installed at Amsterdam University Hospital, location AMC.

Long long long long long long long long long long long long long long long breath lung long ago.

Layers of Memory

“Layers of Memory” (2019), handwoven textile, linen 85 cm x 650 cm, words, vinyl cut lettering, 85 cm x 450-650 cm. Collaboration with graphic designer 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.

Part of the exhibition, I want to Belong to The Living, with Anna Hillbom and Ann-Catrin Olsson at PuntWG in Amsterdam.

3 2 1 Zero and Beyond

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

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.

From New to Renew

I don’t make anything new. Everything I do have already been done. Maybe even for a 100 years. Maybe even for 1000 years. Maybe even for 10.000 years. Maybe even for 100.000 years. I sure hope so. If what I do have been already done for 100.000 years I know I am on the right track. What I do comes through my hands. What I do comes through my mouth. I speak and make. Through my arm I fit into the world. Through my mouth I communicate with the world. I speak though my hands and make through my mouth. My mouth make much moist too. My hand is usually dry. What does it mean to make something that already has been done? Actually, it depends how you define it, New. I am not interested in any definition. My mind is much wider when I see my gestures as in a line of gestures. Inheritance, shared imagination perhaps. I mean, how else would it be possible. I re-do, re-imagine, re-think, re-enchant, re-discover, re-fit, re-new. Continue. Continue. Continue. Continue.

“3 2 1 zero and beyond” (2017), silkscreen prints, 45 x 60 cm. Solo exhibition at Lokaal 1b, Amsterdam.


Transparency. Shatter the surface! Splash the surface of the water too see what lies beyond. Darkness, wetness, not afraid. Maybe. Need it. Mould, earth, deep waters. Lying there floating, can neither go up or down. Floating in the North Sea, horizon only sea and sky. Water and air meeting on your spine. She sees the sea. Last sentence, strange origin.  Depth, deeper, very deep, dark. Turn off the lights. Then you can see what is hidden from sight. Too see what is really hidden from sight. What a strange thing to say, because it is always there. Life is born out of darkness. Like the seeds. Am I dark inside? Small cells glowing, gleaming, so the others can find the way. Glowing veins. Light from inside to outside.

“3 2 1 zero and beyond” (2017), mono-print on textiles, 260 x 380 cm. Solo exhibition at Lokaal 1b, Amsterdam.


“Meganisoptera” (2015), mono-print, textile, wood, 2,2 x 2,5 x 2,7m. Part of the exhibition, A Supernova, VU Hortus, Amsterdam. Photo: Kristina Benjocki.

Because of the many fossils we know that the dragonfly have barely changed for almost 350 million years. This unchanged creature represents something mysterious and unknown form a time I cannot grasp. The dragonfly’s short life-span as flying about a summer season seem to not matter within the confines of it’s timelessness.

Where Can I See It? is a beautiful film essay made by artist and organizer Sara de Campos and filmmaker Jasper de Bruin for this special exhibition.