It feels like hurting and being hurt simultaneously. Everything feels like a hard edge now, without seeing the lines in between. I see a curtain: it is punctured and pricked and stabbed with metal-piercings, things that normally would not hurt a curtain, objects, that are meant to decorate, not to destroy. They mark the curtain like codes and signs from a language I cannot speak.
I turn my head around and press it against the wall, there is a knife beside me, fully stuck into it. A little part of the blade is still lurking through, and I see the image of my face bleeding into a grotesque grimace. It starts to stick its tongue out, gnash its teeth. Who are you?’’, I ask the appearing grimaces. It doesn’t answer, how could it? It’s a monologue.
There is a cut through a body, through soft contours of a delicate neck. I don’t want to come near, but I do. I feel the urge to look and come closer, even though all of this, every piece of work feels like delicate violence.
Text: Seda Pesen
Curated by Saskia Höfler-Hohengarten