I fully curve at the knees, so I carry closed doors on my back. Something always needs to be twisted for me to forget about the rifts I've carved into my centre, so I reduce everything to attempts without confession. Still, I thought something was opening up, and it kept me awake for months. Then all that waking fatigue turned into a junction for two pillars wrapping pasts around their waists. And once I saw it, I couldn’t stop seeing it. And now I lie as distance.

In one’s survivalistic deftness to diminish everything imminent into a casual occurrence, there arises an emphatic effort to deny the essence in order to restrain what one has long possessed an innate sensibility for. Such a loss does not go unnoticed. The rebellion of the undermined system is inevitable. The interlacing of the being does not tolerate hasty changes. Attempts are a betrayal. Certainty is torn apart just before the decision is made. The moment that plants itself before the odds by force creates a dissociative place. It appears in disappearance. I will tell you that it is a good and sweet place wherein questions are neutral statements. Time is of little importance. The one who ends up there both anticipates and hunts oneself; through oneself sees oneself beyond.

There is no end to it as something that existed before me and that I hold hope will not overlook me. I saw myself in that small moment that glazes over me. The moment, which passes between and pauses before, when I again and again alternately free myself from further possibilities and commit myself to others. I effortlessly transition into my opposite, because that's not how I need to be. I get stuck in the in-between, because I'm unwilling to let go or receive as much as it asks of me. I'm usually there. I have made everything of mine there.

view video material here and digital archive here

solo show documentation, October 2025