Old stories. At first stacked up like a tower, then rolled aside. After a while I could see them or at least imagine to see them everywhere: next to the entrance, in the kitchen, on a bridge or leaning on the fence of a playground.
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In every word I recognize you
in the words that I know I am with you
in the words that I don’t know or that have not been invented yet, we wait for each other.
In my old English dictionary there are many words between hyphen – Bindestrich and immortal – unsterblich: hypnotize, hypocrite, hypothesis, I, idealism, idiot, ignorant, immaterial, immense. To spell just a few. You are everywhere. And me too, how else would I know these words. Sometimes it is very obvious, sometimes not at all. I have used more than 100 pins to localize us. Of course, more than 100 is not enough. Of course, one dictionary cannot be enough.
“This is it: I have no language for reality. … how could one prove who one is in reality? I can’t. Do I even know myself who I am? This is the frightening experience of this period of remand: I have no language for my reality.” A passage from Max Frisch’s novel “I am not Stiller” (in my own translation). I have replaced the preceding pages with a concrete block.
Language is like cement, a story can be like concrete. Maybe that is so, because such a shape of story touches us deeply. It transmits an experience across the limits of the pronounceable.
Shopping receipts can be condensed to reveal the personality type of the consumer. This sentence could be from a marketing text book. With my little loom I did as market researchers do. I worked through a bunch of my own receipts, condensed and connected them and indeed, the patterns that emerged say a lot about me. Within the limits of this technique, of course.
You can see more of my shopping patterns over at behance .
Tomtits are building a nest below the roof of our house. They lost quite an amount of moss right in front of our door. It just fell out of their little beaks. Nothing special happened. Or did it? What if the moss was meant as a greeting: Hello neighbours, we are just moving in!
What if the moss is a discreet piece of advice: As experts we advise you to make the entrance of your nest a little softer.
What if the moss is part of a curious investitagion: We tomtits use this to build nests and what are you going to do with this?
So I find myself in the middle of a moss story: I am drawing moss, gluing it on paper, I am stitching moss patterns and make moss from wool.