I made a performance video showing slowly my pink socks. Yesterday I thought my legs looked quite nice, today I don’t think so. I ran fifty minutes and I saw a little black mountain and a minimalistic design on a container of a construction company. So I dived into the trash container of the constructing neighbour in order to put the panic to a halt. The panic is there because I am empty and need to be filled with art, with unnecessary words, like the word ‘kennelijk’. Today I will record one performance.
One is reminded
human noise audible
I wondered why I need to create things all day long all of a sudden, it should be the other way around, living the hours away and eavesdropping on some words, sentences on the way, picking up a scratch of paper. Doing nothing until it is there. Like the words ‘zootje’ en ‘alras’. They fit very well with ‘beentje’. And ‘haaks’.
They don’t feel like distinct people to me.
Adamant ally
Agnes Martin says something about when something, maybe art, is real. Ideas are not real. An idea is an idea and not a feeling:’Ideas are the illusion. The concrete in life is not illusion. It is real. But ideas are not real. We simply make them up.’ ‘I paint from an image that comes into my mind because I want it’. Martin wanted it understood that the desire itself was primary.
I am horribly depressed. I am going to nail the paperworks on the wall so they won’t fall off with just this masking tape. While I am not here.
I would like to be fresh and clean and organized and confident and content and peaceful and out in the open…
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