not knowing

What then if we hear “I don’t know” not as a declaration of ignorance but rather as an appeal for intimacy? This kind of ‘not knowing’ has a consistency that slips through the fingers, and clings to them at the same time. Not knowing is like being honeyed. 1 I am constantly preoccupied with not knowing. There are so many things I don’t know that I decided to dedicate an exhibition to them. As a curator, I feel that my job is to know, although anyone who has organised an exhibition or a public moment of any kind will agree that most of the time you don’t really know until the very last moment. In a way, I would say that not knowing is at the heart of making an exhibition, or making anything creative, anything from scratch, really. We often don’t know, perhaps more often than we would like to admit. And most of the time our natural reflex would be to hide, to cover up the not knowing. We learn from a very early age that not knowing is not something to be proud of. Well, I don’t know, but I’ll be fine, I mean, what’s the worst that can happen, nobody can die…, I say to my friend who is a radiologist. He smiles softly at my confession and nods, looking at me with his kind eyes. Of course, for some of us, not knowing is not an option. Not knowing is scary. While many situations cannot afford to welcome not knowing with open arms, artistic production can. And I’m not talking about the arrogant, can’t be bothered kind of I don’t know. I’m talking about the radically honest, process-trusting, open-ended kind of I don’t know. Because knowing sometimes gets in the way. It blurs our vision and bends our backs. Not knowing leaves us open and vulnerable, writes Eloise Sweetman in her essay “Not knowing. Intimacy. A door ajar”, It enables all encounters and presents us with many teachers: a person, a blade of grass, an artwork, or bacterial flora in your gut. Trusting these teachers and following along without thinking too much about the end result is what makes embracing the not knowing exciting — and terrifying. As one of the artists in the show said, it makes you shiver, but in a good way. There are many kinds of not knowing and this exhibition focuses on a few. Not knowing as the accident of the sun bleaching a piece of cloth left out too long, turning it into a map of the objects once forgotten on it. Not knowing as when you open a door without being sure what’s behind it. Not knowing as rediscovering all the memories in the boxes that remained unpacked for months after the move. Not knowing as a tender echo from afar. Not knowing as the emptiness under the manhole cover. Not knowing as curiosity. Not knowing as no expectations. This is an invitation to not know together, so follow along. Text: Monika Georgieva 1 Eloise Sweetman: “Not knowing. Intimacy. A door ajar”, in: Curatorial Feelings. Shimmer Press: Rotterdam 2021.