Welcome to the process page of artist Tilda Dalunde! Here I share parts of my art making process: material experiments, try-outs, thoughts, three-dimensional sketches and things like that. At the moment most pictures are part of the project "Into the Absence of Ligt". For finished objects from previous projects, please visit tildadalunde.se
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.
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
Drying raw hide, sewn on to cast concrete
Dried hide, revealing the structure of the concrete underneath
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.
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?
We are raised as islands. We learn to see ourselves as separated from the rest of the world, with our own unique map of rivers and mountains, regardless of the fact that mountains are created by tectonic movement involving the whole world, and that rivers are made up of water that evaporated in another island’s forests.
Being an island is both liberating and dangerous. Deciding to be be free of the continent, to stop referring back to it for truths and answers, makes you able to think for yourself, but at the same time it enables logical fallacy to flourish without question.