The wonder and crime of curiosity

I have been four people in this project. The explorer, the introvert, the organizer and the corpus maker.

The explorer is the one traveling the ocean, looking at the world with curiosity and deciding to own it. Ruthless science and colonialism: to do because we can, or to do to find out if it can be done.

hälsa evolutionen liten“Tell Evolution”

One of the most common questions I got during the exam exhibition was what material the branch is made of. When I answered “raw hide… skin”, the asker’s look changed and they just had to ask “human skin?”. I wonder how we can be explorers without being colonizers.

det överblickbaraliten“The travelable distance”

The introvert is the one remembering that we might sleep half a meter away from another person, but a wall of concrete make us exist in different worlds. We are only aware of the neighbours upstairs when they are disturbing us, we co-exist at a distance and agree to pretend that someone else will save the world.

lägenheten bredvid och om de inte liten“The apartment next to theirs” (left) and “If they weren’t made to be empty” (right)

The organiser is the one documenting and collecting. Sorting the world and combining the fragments into our preferred version of reality. Ideally I would like my work to meet an audience slowly and quietly, like the way you find lost things in the attic and you wonder who they used to belong to.

vår föredragna version 4“Our preferred version of reality”

The corpus maker is the one placing the borders around pieces of emptiness, the definer of inside and outside. Possibly even the creator of inside and outside, since neither of them can exist without the meeting place that is the border.

den enda andra 1liten“The only other piece of land”

examenlitenExam presentation set up.

vårutställningen 1litenExam exhibition with cast concrete floor and 4 of 7 pieces.

Done. Next project.

 

 

The Border/The Container

When you make a container you place borders around pieces of emptiness. The emptiness is given shape and becomes a space inside the border.

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This space is often used to protect or separate matter of different value from each other or to sort the world to make it easier for us to use. For instance keeping the sugar from being mixed with all the other things on the table until we decide the time has come to mix them, or separating the bones of a saint from all mundane materials inside a reliquary, or building walls to make sure people stay in there assigned places.

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In short: to protect what is contained against unwanted influences or to contain and isolate what is unwanted.

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The border (the material divider) can itself be used to tell you something of what it encloses and how important it is, and also if it is closing something in or closing something out. But can it also contain the movement between the inside and the outside?

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Back to the Island

In theory the island has a clearly defined border. But where is it? The shoreline? In that case: low or high tide? Stormy weather or calm waves? Do the rivers belong to the island or to the ocean? And what about islands that are connected during low tide but separated during high tide?

IMG_2607Line: shellac and steel

IMG_5056Tunnel: shellac and fabric

IMG_3139Ocean: shellac and concrete

IMG_3060Tunnel with hand: shellac, fabric and hand

IMG_5178Melting: shellac and fabric

IMG_5016The amazing beauty of shellac in sunlight

The Explorer

As the Explorer I stood on top of the cliff, right where Tenerife ends and the ocean begins. I looked out over the strait towards La Gomera, the neighbour island, its green pointy contour completely dominating the horizon. I could probably swim there if I wanted it badly enough. Still, there was no contact between the original populations of these islands. Why is that? How could they stand not knowing what was going on on that other piece of land, the only other piece of land visible to them?

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Casting silicone cubes

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Silicone in concrete

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Concrete rooms

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Concrete and silicone

Memories of my grandmother: day 12 (last day)

Dear grandmother,

Do you remember that time when I helped you to move? I was so efficiant in packing away your kitchen things that you had to call me for months afterwards to ask where things where hidden. We are right by that house now. Your last house, with the amazing view. We reached the sea finally, crossing half this country on foot to get here. I remember you walking slowly in this place, your hip hurting more and more. But you never stopped picking away the weed that wanted to live in your driveway. You brought a foldable chair with you, sat down and picked away, then moved the chair one step foreward, sat down again and continued. You had plans when you moved here, even though you somehow knew you where moving back north to die. Someone else live in your house now. They are not as good at picking away the weeds, but I’m sure they love the view. We slept the last night at that museum you liked so much, they have cottages for hire now in the middle of all the historical buildings. We had dinner at the same table where you and I ate. We talked about you. We will continue to talk about you.

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Fragment 13: a piece of weed from her driveway, since she is no longer there.

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The sea at last.

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The cliffs fall apart like cubes here.

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Detail from one of the sets at the museum Mannaminne.

Memories of my grandmother: day 11

Dear Grandmother,

I doubt that you remember the last christmas we spent together. It was the last time you went south, but for you geography was just a matter of convinience. By then Spain was on the second floor of the house and the kitchen was preparing the Nobel-price dinner. You where apparently there to interview us about our family restaurant, not at all to celebrate christmas, even though you got confused every time you remembered that you where also part of the family. I tried to correct your thoughts and bring you back to reality, until I realized that being corrected constantly is no fun and what is reality anyway? So we embarked on a journey through your mind insted. Every time you asked the same question I gave you a different answer, to see which one you liked the best. We ended up with plans to go to the north pole by hot air ballon. All those plans gone, offcourse, five minutes later but you liked them while they lasted. The next five minutes was a different adventure.

I wanted to tell you that it was one of my best christmases and I will never stop being amazed of how the mind creates reality, even though I will never stop missing having a long and continious conversation with you.

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Fragment 12: a piece of fir / a bit of christmas tree

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In this house the christmas candles where still in the window.

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A farm with a view.

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A wonderful but closed down roadside restaurant called “the Swan”.

Memories of my grandmother: day 10

Dear grandmother,

I think I found your glasses by the road today. Or at least parts of them. It could easily be them, you had so many. Your glasses where always a bit bent and crooked, from being sat on or for fallen asleep with in front of the television or somehow getting under lots of bags in the car.

We walked the road of the famous 1931 strike protest today, the one that ended with the military opening fire against it’s own population and killing five people. A dark day in swedish history, but as some dark days do, it changed this country for the better since (almost) everyone realized the brutality was way over the top and that the military should have nothing to do with civilian matters anymore.

You where six years old when this happened. You didn’t need glasses yet. You had long before you would fall asleep in front of a television. You had not even sat in a car. You had all these years left.

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Fragment 11: a lens from a pair of broken glasses.

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Detail from the memorial of “the shots in Ådalen”, front page from the local newspaper the day before the protests with the news that led to the protests (“Strike breakers invades Ådalen”).

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Memories of my grandmother: day 9

Dear grandmother,

Do you remember when we drove through the mountains and you held on so hard to that little handle above the window each time your side of the car faced the edge? In every turn of the serpentine road you made your scared-sound by sucking in air through clenched teeth. You told everyone afterwards how scared you had been and you eyes glittered full of joy every time.

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Fragmnet 10: a piece of a rusty car we found along the trail today.

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The trail goes on for at least a km in each direction, how did it get here?

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We are in sawmill country now.

 

 

 

Memories of my grandmother: day 7-8

Dear grandmother,

We are between your homes now. This land is being abandoned, everyone is moving to the city and the fireweed -your flower, is left to claim the fields. I’ve never seen so many of them, they wave in the wind like purple weat.

On the way here we passed a charcoal kiln from WWII. The walls where broken and I could get inside to where the coal used to slowly burn. The brick walls where beautifully burnt and green from a thin layer of moss, old steel barrels lay on the ground. I remembered that you always enjoyed hearing about my travels so I will write to you instead of about you. That way I can still imagine your reactions and comments. You would say “Oh! That you dared!” when I told you about going into the kiln and I would get to feel like a brave adventurer reporting back to base camp.

The fields of fireweed also made me think about that summer when you made an outside theatre, telling the history of your birth place like a journey through time. They where everywhere that year. One of the characters in the theatre was the man “Vildhussen” that accidentally drained a whole lake trying to streamline the timber transportation on the river sometime in the 1700s. We passed the “Dead Waterfall” that was the result of his actions the day before yesterday. You would have really liked the salmon galets they serve there now.

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Fragment 9: fireweed. In swedish they are called “navvy-rose” because they grow on newly disturbed ground and followed the railroad-builders as a tail through the country.

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Newly abandoned field now covered with not yet fully blooming fireweed.

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Inside the charcoal kiln. The fire burned for two weeks at a time.

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The roof is slowly caving in.