Unreceived messages/What was never heard

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I invite you to be part of my art project “Insulated – to be made into an island”.

In this stage of the project I want to highlight the feeling of not being heard, by enclosing messages that was never heard or received into unopenable bottles.

I will cast at least 80 bottles in silicone with the participators’ messages inside, making the message stick to and become part of the bottle. (Like in the picture below)
What I ask you to do is to write down (preferably in your handwriting), in any language you want, a message that was, or is, not heard. Something you tried to say but that wasn’t listened to. It can be “big” or “small”, political or personal, general or embarrassing, hopeful or angry, a solution or a problem or many other things.
If you don’t want to put your message in words you can instead choose a small object to represent what you wanted to say, the person you wanted to say it to or yourself as the unheard communicator.

This project will not make your message heard. You will instead be one of the many voices trying to get a message across but not being listened to.
My hope is that all these bottles with their unread messages standing alone but together will create a feeling of shouting silence and how difficult it can be to be heard today.

Should you choose to participate I will need your contribution by the 2nd of January to have time to cast all the bottles before the 12th of January when they will be part of an exhibition at Konstfack in Stockholm. The folded or rolled up letter or object can be as small as you like but must fit inside a cylinder, 5 cm wide and 9 cm long.
Please also tell me if it is ok that some part of your message is readable through the bottle!

For questions or to participate, please write to info@tildadalunde.se
Please share this with others that might be interested!

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Stacking

Dear Society,

Is it just these people I’m outside of, or is it everyone?

You raise us as islands and teach us to see ourselves as individuals, separated from the rest of the world. You isolate us in little compartments, stacked close together in big buildings, but separated so completely as if existing in different dimensions. We live on controllable islands of sameness in an ocean of otherness.

But you’re forgetting that there is no word for the difference between me and the world.

Or am “I” that word?

Doubtfully, The Introvert

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Stack of concrete compartments

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Stack of velvet compartments

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Group of cages/city scape

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Stacking compartments close together

As the hide dries

Dear Outside,

Where do I end and you begin? Everything is just the same kind of materials, repeated over and over and reused over and over. How can a division ever be made? Or is it the division that makes the materials relevant? Without division no change, without change no time and without time no life. Without you no me.

Yours truly, The Inside

 

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Drying raw hide, sewn on to cast concrete

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Dried hide, revealing the structure of the concrete underneath

Quite concrete

Dear Poets,

You’ve told me that no one is an island. But also that everybody dies alone. Which is it? I’m finding it hard to figure out if I am an isolated container of life or if we’re all just reflections of the same thing, whatever that thing is. And you seem to be of every opinion. You probably don’t know either and in the meantime we keep pulling in both directions, drawing lines between people but doing almost anything to be allowed to belong.

Love, The Reader

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Insulating or isolating?

Dear Container,

Where you ever empty? Who filled you with me? Somebody claimed your space and filled you with their own content, that’s how I got here. These borders that surround me are your definition and my division from the outside. Why do I let you? You insulate me and protect me against unwanted influences. I worry about, and long for the isolation you promise to give me. But can you really? Nothing ever happens in a vacuum. What is it then we’re shutting in and shutting out – to make something or someone into an island?

I am documented and filed, so I really do exist. But where you ever empty before me?

Always wondering, The Contained

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Iron fabric and branch.

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Red velvet and branch.