Writing

Rennen voor Farida

In een van mijn boeken staat een verhaal, een volkssprookje. Over een reus die van verdriet zo lang in de zee geknield zit dat de natuur op zijn rug klimt, zijn huid verdroogt en de mensen op zijn hoofd gaan wonen. En dan is hij plots een eiland en weet niemand meer waar de reus gebleven is. Niemand vraagt waarom hij niet wegloopt—het is overduidelijk. Niemand trekt hem de zee uit. De mensen willen ook niet meer dat hij wegloopt. Hun huizen staan bovenop hem. Er leven herten en egels en wilde zwijnen in zijn bossen, in de zomer bloeien de klaprozen zijn huid uit. In je haar ruik ik de klaprozen als je me omarmt. Jij ziet ze waarschijnlijk elke dag, de herten en egels. Van achter mijn raam zie ik ze ook. Af en toe strijkt er zonlicht langs mijn wang. Soms klinken er verre buren door de muren heen. Het duurt nooit lang voor mijn blik weer terug dwaalt. En ik ben er weer.

Black Sun

  • Interactive digital work
  • Nederlands + English
  • June 2020

‘I am here to serve you,’ she said. And then her face cracked open in a smile, wrinkled her features until she was as soggy as a walnut, but bright as the sun, smiling as hard as she could. It was a sight to behold, and soon everybody surrounding her was smiling, though her voice had revealed no joy, had refrained from expressing emotion at all. ‘I am here,’ she repeated, and then the twinkle in her eyes shimmered like moonlight on a frozen lake, though no one had seen the sun lately. It had turned black, leaving a circular hole in the sky on clear days. People had wondered where it had gone, if it was gone, or merely covered, if maybe their eyes had simultaneously refused to look directly at it, created a collective blindspot for the object that we now recall as being the sun. People wondered if it had ever really been there, or if their memory had suddenly started to refuse playing tricks on them, if the reality had suddenly decided to be truthful and show them the sky the way it really was: sunless.

Motherland

  • Publication
  • English
  • December 2019

We are the daughters of our mothers, our homes, our stories. All these things make us—whether these are the places where we grew up, the food we were raised with, the smell that reminds us of Sunday mornings or the songs we memorized. What is the motherland to you? How far away are you from it? And how can you go back to it?

Motherland is a publication focussing on the theme of the motherland. We tried to physicalize the feeling of home through various essays, photographs, found footage, music, features of our own personal work—but also with a scanned series of objects showing our personal associations with the motherland.

The Art of Ethical Apathy

  • Manifesto
  • English
  • June 2019

1. Ethical Apathy is material. It is a trace, a worn-out state of (passed) activity. It feels like sweat and blood, smells like organic matter. A vague sense of torture emanates from it. There is dirt, there is dust, there is death, there is the proof of time passing by. And beyond all that, there is the human involvement in the act: the labour needed to complete the work, either coming from the work itself, the artist, the audience or all of the aforementioned.

2. The art of Ethical Apathy morphs the laws of morality to allow apathetic behavior—crime, rape, abuse, etc.—to exist and develop freely. In other words, Ethical Apathy allows the viewer to engage in behavior that would normally be considered unethical, exploring the boundaries, requirements and genuineness of human empathy. (After all, the more we understand empathy, the less frightening it is to engage in it.)

The Ultimate Performance Is a Lie

  • Essay
  • English
  • October 2018

According to Walter Benjamin’s definition of the aura of a work of art—“its presence in time and space, its unique existence at the place where it happens to be”—play recordings cannot do what the performance can: the aura of the work would have faded, since a recording cannot capture the live quality and physical and spatial presence that a play has. In addition to that, it is by definition impossible for a recording and a performance—or, a movie and a play—to be synonymous. The movie captures the performance, the play is the performance. Without a live execution, the play does not exist. The movie on the other hand only uses the performance as a source to construct the movie. After the performances (the acting on set) are over, the movie lives on, whereas the play ends when the live performance ends. To go even further, a play is not just one performance, but consists of many performances. After all, the play is performed multiple times and therefore creates multiple iterations (or: realities).

Plea for Timefulness

  • Essay
  • English
  • March 2018

It is often said that good design is able to stand the test of time. Designers are constantly trying to create timeless design. One of the most well-known, self-proclaimed ‘timeless’ designs is the typeface Helvetica. Helvetica got rid of all unnecessary details in order to achieve the ultimate, neutral form — in order to strip the design of all meaning and make it multi-interpretable. Whether Helvetica really is timeless, will forever remain unknown. But can timelessness be achieved in the first place? Is timeless design even something we would want to achieve?

Dichtsels

  • Poetry
  • Nederlands + English
  • October 2015 - March2018

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