My life as an amateur. Part 106.

 During the second intake I couldn’t stop talking about the family I grew up in. There was no need of asking questions because the answers were there already. The student psychologist sent me a booklist of relevant titles. I ordered two secondhandly  and the one of Judith Butler I bought years ago. Today I made two performance videos. On one I wrote ‘sociaal doen’ on the wall, on the second I erased ‘sociaal doen’ from the wall. I composed a wall object of rags and a X-ray with ‘sociaal doen’ written on it.  A paperwork grew by mounting several layers of paper on paper with ‘waar de storm ineens vandaan komt’ written on it. Great day.

Terecht kunnen, galm

begintijd eindtijd

eindtijd begint van het breekwater

het vult het vult het vult

het babbelt ik trek hier een

bruine lijn want ik moet hier toch

kun je zeg, het klinkt

I do not have anything to say. I am reading a book, ‘Ace’ by Angela Chen, about asexuality. I think it’s an interesting subject. We went to Middelburg, a monumental quiet town, and visited the Zeeuws Museum. The exhibition was called ‘Darn too’ , a history of darning and darning during times of war. I was spellbound by Marie, who embroidered her mail in towels, while she was held in prison. A fellow had betrayed her while he was tortured horribly. Therefore for Marie it did not felt like a betrayal. Once captivated she acted like a dummy, as if she didn’t knew what was going on. Marie was a winner. When she was released she wanted to tell all the things and horrible things she had witnessed but no one wanted to hear. It was better to forget everything as quickly as possible. People told her.

My life as an amateur. Part 105.

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…