yes i can say no. self with limited range of expression.
One image of the series of self-portraits with limited range of expression is part of Nasty Women Everywhere, an online exhibiton for women’s rights that is running to 26th of February.
yes i can say no. self with limited range of expression.
Das Wundern kommt dir entgegen. (Wondering is coming towards you.) text on concrete. wire, polymer clay. 15 cm diameter.
the text translates
the wondering
is already coming to
wards you. Have you come
to wonder? towards won-
dering. oh. uh. oh. going towards
all wonders at this
time of day. here, wondering comes t-
owards you. oh! uh! oh!
you! Are you moving towards
wondering? oh! you! here!
the wondering is al-
ways coming towards you here
right now. Are you coming
towards wondering?
oh! you! here is the spa-
ce where you both meet:
you + wondering.
“The Talk” was an installation that was on show at the a href=”http://fridaygallery.com/”>Friday Gallery, Munich during Munich Jewellery Week from 24 Feb to 1 March. In a dialogue with the South African artist Allun Turner I have been creating jewellery objects, textures and masks from newspaper. Over the course of several weeks I got the chance to dive deeper into my favorite subject – words and gestures. Here are a few impressions:
The Talk. installation view. Ines Seidel.
texture from burst speech bubbles. Ines Seidel
Allun Turner. trophy head.
Allun Turner @ The Talk
pendant made from newspaper. Ines Seidel.
show your wound. ring made with paper. Ines Seidel.
“The Talk”. Ausschnitt. Ines Seidel
On the 15th of December the Procreate Project will launch in London. The initiative has been founded to support and network with international mother artists. More than 100 artists contribute to the launching exhibition at the Women’s Art Library at the University of London. Until 18th of December the works are shown in specially made photozines. I am represented with the photo series “Our Baby”.
Our Baby. self with news. photography.
ONE. pigment transfer, wire, ink on concrete.
I am the chicken and the egg,
I am the shell and the crack.
I am the nest. I leave the nest.
I am in pieces that do not rhyme.
I am in pieces that rhyme with
one.
words are not light enough. Ikea lightbox, writing..
THIS PIECE IS TO MAKE YOU SEE THAT WORDS
ARE NOT LIGHT ENOUGH. SPACE IS TRANSPARE
NT. WORDS ARE NOT. IGNORE MY WRITING, SEE
THE SPACE BETWEEN. SEE? (AND MAYBE ADMIT
BLOCKING LIGHT HAS BEAUTY, TOO.) WOR
DS ARE BLOCKING THE LIGHT. WORDS DO
NOT SHINE ON THEIR OWN. WORDS ARE NOT
NEVER CLEAR ENOUGH. WORDS ARE NOT →
BRIGHT ENOUGH. IGNORE THESE LINES AND
LET THE SPACE SPEAK TO YOU DIRECTLY.
THERE IS NO OTHER CONTENT. ENJOY THE
FREE SPACE. WORDS ARE NOT SPACIOUS
ENOUGH. SEE? WORDS GET IN THE WAY. YOU
HAD TO SEE THIS…. YOU HAVE
TO SEE THIS FOR YOURSELF. (WORDS ARE O.K.)
WORDS ARE NOT LIGHT ENOUGH.
words are not light enough. Ikea lightbox, writing.
WORDS ARE NOT TRANSPARENT ENOUGH.
THEY BLOCK THE LIGHT (TO AN EXTENT). THESE WOR
DS ARE NOT BRIGHT ENOUGH TO SHINE ON THEIR OWN.
BUT THEY HAVE THE POWER TO SHAPE THE SPACE (TO AN
EXTENT). YET, THE SPACE REMAINS FREE FROM CONTENT.
IGNORE THE WORDS AND READ THE ← → do you see?
SPACE INSTEAD. WORDS ARE NOT SPACIOUS ENOUGH.
CAN YOU SEE THE FREEDOM IN THE SPACE AROUND THE
LETTERS? AND THE LIGHT? THIS IS THE COMPLETE CONTENT.
WORDS ARE NOT CLEAR. words are not transparent enough.
LETTERS ARE TOO LIMITED AND TOO DENSE TO TRAN
SMIT LIGHT.
read beyond
or don’t
read at all.
All there is
to realize is
in the space
between the
words. AT THE
EDGE OF THE
WORDS, WHERE
THE PAINT ENDS.
THIS IS WHERE
THE LIGHT
STARTS.
READ AND
SHINE IF YOU
WANT.
words are not light enough. Ikea lightbox, writing.
words are not light enough. too heavy.
BUT SOMETIMES THEY CAST BEAUTI
FUL SHADOWS. WORDS ARE NOT TRA
NSPARENT ENOUGH. IT IS THE SPA
CE BETWEEN THE LETTERS THAT
TRANSMITS THE LIGHT. DO YOU SEE
THIS IS THE COMPLETE CONTENT:
FOLLOW THE WORDS ONLY AS FAR AS
THE BLACK PAINT GOES. THEN ENTER
THE SPACE BETWEEN THE WORDS.
THE FREE, TRANSPARENT SPACE
THAT DOES NOT BLOCK THE LIGHT. THIS
IS WHERE WE MEET. AT THE EDGE OF THE BLACK PAINT. WHERE THE LIGHT PASSES.
words are not light enough. Ikea lightbox, writing.
My story and yours
still separate, frozen
are starting to melt:
Letters flow away,
sentences gather in puddles…
Our story, one slow current,
trickles into new patterns,
seeps into the ground or evaporates
save for a bit of dust,
and falls down as rain, somewhere.
For the series of photographs “story, written on ice” I wrote on a bloc of ice with Indian ink. I chose two different fragments of German text, one from a family saga by John von Düffel, whose writing usually has to do with water. The other line is from a poem which is better known as the song “The miller’s joy is wandering”. Here are the translations:
Impossible to say, how often I thought of these rivers, how often I dreamt of them, how many nights I was drawn to them, when I was passing through sleeping towns, dry, riverless towns, on the search for water, on the search for the movement of water,(…). My translation from: John von Düffel “Vom Wasser” (On water).
The water teaches us to move, the water. From: Wilhelm Müller “Wandering”
unsung verses
of the promised touch
a scent not yet recognized and
the words I am still searching for.
verses, unsung. ca. 28 x 13 x 3 cm in a row.
concrete with paint and a transferred photograph of my hand
found dry blossoms in candle wax,
teabags with handwriting, wax and yarn.
Additional pictures at flickr here and here.
wire houses, with or without a concrete base. Wrapped in spontaneous text written on tea bags, sealed with wax.
(house 1, in the picture above the second house from right, translated from German).
walls from words and windows from soft words and doors from stories and walls from words and windows from soft words and roofs from half sentences and stairs from laughter only the light is simply here. And you are here. I am here.
In between walls from words, windows from soft words, doors from stories and unspoken cellar rooms and you are here with me. We talk walls to each other.
In between light falls through walls from words and roofs from half sentences and stairs from laughter, windows from soft, thin words, doors from stories. You hear here. Here.
And roofs from half sentences and walls from words and everything can fall apart if we don’t catch a new word, but light is simply here. And you are here and I am here and doors from stories, if you believe them. Stairs from laughter, cellar rooms from unspoken words. If you believe them. If you believe words, you are here with me.
(house 4, the smallest one, with English words)
Living inside stories, written on the walls oft he world that has your name on it. Telling you where your limits are. Spelling your name.
Living inside stories. Telling you: You are here. The limits of your name echo from the walls. The story about limits.
Living inside stories written on the walls of your name. If you believe in limits. If you believe in stories, how much room does your name need. If you believe.
Living inside stories, as if they were your skin.
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.
pocket dictionary English – German, pins with polymer clay. 22 x 15 x 4 cm. If you are interested in a poster, let me know. Find more pictures hereand here.
are my words
too heavy, too solid
to transport the
lightness
I want to convey.
