letters to my friend Eden

While researching the concept of what is perceived as a public space, I came across the question of who owns public space. More specifically, who inhabits a space that is perceived as a free zone where the public congregates. Observing unwritten moral rules about how an individual should behave in the presence of others brought to light a group of people who, in some ways, do not fit within the agreed-upon structures of public space. Those were the homeless people. Involuntarily subjected to the condition of obstructing accepted fluctuations in open spaces. Slinking unnoticed beneath the Tschumi pavilion in search of shelter. Take wakeful rest and depart in search of another open sanctuary. Having the opportunity to work in a public space, the desire was to create an environment for passers-by to rest, more so to put oneself in the shoes of a homeless person. Regrettably, this was not accepted by the municipality. As a result, rather than providing an experience for the others, I disguised myself as a vagrant under the Tschumi pavilion one evening.

An action was transformed into a voluntary disruption of open space. Being completely exposed yet unnoticed, having comfort while remaining alert at all times.
The desire to wreak havoc in a Heresingel neighborhood was overshadowed by the feelings it caused me while I shortly experienced a position of a bum.

This work was made with the support of  het resort midseason'20 program 

more information --> http://www.hetresort.nl/midseason-20.html

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a child of voluntary exodus

Part of the prose 

<...> Barns have more to say, more to whisper, the deepest secrets no human can decipher.

The skin is brighter, the sun is further away on the horizon, and the fields are free to run, jump, fall, swirl, collapse, shout, cry, laugh, die, resurrect,
live again.
I asked today how come you ended up this way, she was more than pleased to tell how blessed her childhood was. See, I never wanted to leave for

the upheaval of my youth, instead I stayed here, in the fields,
where I was born and will die one day soon, she speaks with confidence in her tone.
Thus, she never entered the bustling city, never saw a homeless bum,
nor the lights shining from the bars when late at night desperate souls drink their sorrows away.
She never left.
Telling tales of city life they can only produce a laugh louder than the squabble shout.<...>

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In the summer of 2020, I had the opportunity to return to the place of the infinite fields and connect with the residents of the hoary lands as part of my ongoing investigation into settlement and belonging. I was able to capture four stories by creating a DIY residency with the community of a small village. Within the period of two weeks, I lived the lifestyle the village inhabitants pursued. In the end, capturing four stories by which an individual took on a choice to settle with the condition they were born into. And made three performance pieces in reflection of the stories of inhabitants.

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<...>"Lady, you should reside, follow us. You breathe the meadows, your feet, your arms, your back, your neck, every vein pulsates the urge to remain with us.I recognize these phrases, they keep on praying onto me, begging me to join the bygone path." <...>

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nocturnal investigations

<...>I’m now in a bar, thinking - be a good citizen thus sleep early, or perhaps be a disobedient child- stay awake all night. Parents are gone a long time ago, a child is not relevant anymore.

They say this question is a sign of youth, where nights become a primal mission to be completed. They also lie a lot.

I see a man, a friend said he’s a madman, once bought a round of drinks for the homeless, 

such a generous act, I thought, how mad or perhaps rich he should be. 

He sees me writing, I pretend not to see his gaze towards me, 

I pretend I’m blind and yet I write. 

I guess the decision has been made- to introduce myself to him. Although I’m just a girl with purple hair and bruised nose slowly sipping a second glass of whiskey.

I pretend I’m strong, yet shaking from inside out, like a bird in loss of its home.

Our gaze meets for a second, squeeze a smile, I say to myself. Pretend to be easy-going, liar liar, panties on fire.

Act as the most important poetess nobody has heard about.

A bartender, a friend of mine, brings a shot of dutch goodness, I say I hate him when I swallow that overfilled glass of dark liquor. 

I guess the night begins.

Perhaps adventure over the corner, perhaps falling over one’s shoulder.

He puts his legs up, the pint is gone, took around 10 minutes to shovel it all.

I keep waiting for another gaze. In the meantime, light up a cigarette. 

They say it helps to waste some time, whilst you can never realize what is the ratio of fast smoking. 

God damn those cigarettes. He disappeared and I, over-focused on the questions of time, did not capture his disappearance.

Perhaps, it is a sign to go home, I feel there is something else yet to come.

I adore the concept of unexpectantly, especially during the nights. When shadows take half of your vision, suddenly you become a queen that no one can see.

Thank God, or perhaps alcohol addiction, he is back.

I am a detective and he is not aware of it at all.

At this moment I already won, knowing more than he does about the girl who writes about him. <...>

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farewell, white cubes !

In January 2020, the notion of chance had brought me to destroy my own project. I gave myself the possibility to experience what it is to let life be decided by the flip of a coin. John Cage claimed that the chance method allows for a space free from intentionality and invites a closer connection with our pre-intentional nature. While living according to the decisions made by a coin, I have discovered

a few peculiarities present within the chance method. To begin with, having no possibility to choose in any immediate sense, did leave me with a number of undefinable unintentional outcomes. Nevertheless, choosing which decisions should be made by chance allowed me to still nurture some sort of intention. Thus, even though I left some decisions to chance, I had power in deciding which decisions I shall give to the consideration of the coin. This made me question how much chance actually played a role, and how much freedom from my own intentions I had. To challenge this questioning, on January 31st, while developing an extensive project, I flipped a coin for deciding whether the project should be destroyed. The coin said yes. Thus, I have destroyed what was already developed within the project. In retrospect, this experience has given me a realization that one’s own intentions can challenge oneself, an awareness that one’s own intentional stance upon the infinite possibilities can manifest its existence in the world.

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