outside
A doll's house on a pedestal. Spot on doll's house.
The performer approaches the house and looks inside.
She climbs onto the house, looks into the various rooms, turns the pages of a small book, and opens the small drawers. The music develops tension. She begins to writhe, moves her hands away from her and back towards her, and covers her eyes. She straightens up again and again. The furniture in the doll's house shakes.
The music changes. She climbs down from the doll's house. She walks towards a metal table with a monitor on it. She takes a webcam and starts filming her skin. You can see indentations in her skin on the screen. She films the palms of her hands, upper arms, stomach, and ribs. The scenery is colored in cool blue light. The music is atmospheric with a recurring pulsating sound.
A doll's house on a pedestal. Spot on doll's house.
The performer approaches the house and looks inside.
She climbs onto the house, looks into the various rooms, turns the pages of a small book, and opens the small drawers. The music develops tension. She begins to writhe, moves her hands away from her and back towards her, and covers her eyes. She straightens up again and again. The furniture in the doll's house shakes.
The music changes. She climbs down from the doll's house. She walks towards a metal table with a monitor on it. She takes a webcam and starts filming her skin. You can see indentations in her skin on the screen. She films the palms of her hands, upper arms, stomach, and ribs. The scenery is colored in cool blue light. The music is atmospheric with a recurring pulsating sound.
She places the webcam on the floor and a blue image appears on the screen. The performer crawls on all fours in the opposite direction. She collapses again and again in synchronization with the accents of the music. She tries to pick herself up. After a while, she gets up and collapses to the floor again, accompanied by breaking glass. She contorts her body into unusual positions. She writhes on the floor, pulling herself forward. She performs once around the doll's house. Once, shortly before the end, she looks briefly at the doll's house, followed by convulsive, tense movements.
At the end, the music stops and she lies on the floor. She breathes loudly, and her body moves up and down, up and down.
She gets up and leaves the exhibition space.
At the end, the music stops and she lies on the floor. She breathes loudly, and her body moves up and down, up and down.
She gets up and leaves the exhibition space.
inside
In the house, I have old photos of my brother and me ‘hidden’. There are newspapers and books about every year she was ill. Valium and Rivotril packets lie open and hidden there.
I look at all this stuff. It looks idyllic. Many things like the carpet exist in my parents' house. Some things, like the shared children's room, are not. 6.5 years lie between my brother and me, there would never have been a room like that.
I climb on top of the house. I try to put my center of gravity on the highest point of the roof so that the roof doesn't break. The roof panels are only lying loosely on top of each other. I turn round and look into the children's room, then the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room. The sharp edge bores into me. My choreography begins. The more I move, the more it hurts. I breathe loudly. The parts that carry my weight are pressed deeper and deeper into the house. I push my weight up again and again. There are three positions I can take.
In the house, I have old photos of my brother and me ‘hidden’. There are newspapers and books about every year she was ill. Valium and Rivotril packets lie open and hidden there.
I look at all this stuff. It looks idyllic. Many things like the carpet exist in my parents' house. Some things, like the shared children's room, are not. 6.5 years lie between my brother and me, there would never have been a room like that.
I climb on top of the house. I try to put my center of gravity on the highest point of the roof so that the roof doesn't break. The roof panels are only lying loosely on top of each other. I turn round and look into the children's room, then the bathroom, the kitchen, and the living room. The sharp edge bores into me. My choreography begins. The more I move, the more it hurts. I breathe loudly. The parts that carry my weight are pressed deeper and deeper into the house. I push my weight up again and again. There are three positions I can take.
I get down from the doll's house and walk towards the monitor. I made the music for this part with sounds from the intensive care unit. They remind me of all the intensive care stays, the bonnets, and gloves, the pulsating rhythm of the medical equipment, each a personal delicate meter, the smell of disinfectant. You are on all these devices.
I film the impressions. There are deep marks on my palms, similar to the natural lines, but much more macabre. My forearms, showing this indentation like scars, looking at me. A long line that goes from just above my belly button to my ribs and ends halfway between my shoulder blades. I hope the others can recognize these marks. I move in the other direction. I tremble, as Mum's hands often do. I improvised for many days with the music I produced for this piece. The central motifs became more and more apparent. The slipping, trembling, cramping, the movement upwards, and the recurring falling.
It reminds me of a darkened living room, helplessness, watching, the emergency bell, the straw, your fear and pain, the shadow that has accompanied us ever since.
Giving up, resentment and pain, and the certainty that nothing will ever change. It's the first time I've dealt with such a personal topic. I had the feeling that I was revealing myself too much. I am glad that I faced up to this fear. It was important work for me.
My mum knows nothing about it.
I film the impressions. There are deep marks on my palms, similar to the natural lines, but much more macabre. My forearms, showing this indentation like scars, looking at me. A long line that goes from just above my belly button to my ribs and ends halfway between my shoulder blades. I hope the others can recognize these marks. I move in the other direction. I tremble, as Mum's hands often do. I improvised for many days with the music I produced for this piece. The central motifs became more and more apparent. The slipping, trembling, cramping, the movement upwards, and the recurring falling.
It reminds me of a darkened living room, helplessness, watching, the emergency bell, the straw, your fear and pain, the shadow that has accompanied us ever since.
Giving up, resentment and pain, and the certainty that nothing will ever change. It's the first time I've dealt with such a personal topic. I had the feeling that I was revealing myself too much. I am glad that I faced up to this fear. It was important work for me.
My mum knows nothing about it.
