That blonde or NadjaVeraLyuboffStern,December 2009, @SAIC
Photo Katya Grokhovsky
Shooting in the vicinity of the school in a Department Store on Friday Morning. Murder/suicide.Boyfriend shoots girlfriend, then himself. Shopping and blood. Chicago, I love you?
Art History. Analysis of a film by Chantal Akerman: Jeanne Dielman, 1975. Extract. Essay:
"Alienation, estrangement, the mundane meaninglessness, profound boredom, ritualization of being, self-imposed isolation, living paralysis, the inevitable hypnosis, the stupor of existence, the extreme tedium of duration, the space of life’s physical and mental entrapment, the inevitability of disaster, the passage of time noticed, the blanket of hidden anxiety and fear , the woman’s absence....Nothing prepared me for the onslaught of Jeanne Dielman. I read nothing prior to watching it and merely overheard snippets of re-told accounts of other people’s experiences of the work. I came in cold - I left hypnotized, shaken, mortified and yes, enlightened to no end. Why? Akerman did not entertain me, or take me away from my life into another. She took me, the innocent viewer, directly and painfully right by the skin of my neck, into my own life, my own tedium of time of my physical being, my own fear of death and, most importantly, my own fear of being buried, metaphorically speaking, alive, as a woman , as a human being. The dread of inevitable void, no matter how hidden or masked by absolutely every activity we undertake, is a constant and a given in the equation of our duration. Every great masterpiece in the time of the earth, examines or hints at the black hole, the end of the breathing, the “diamond skull”. However, Akerman’s ability to arrest your own time and enter the durational reality of the time of the “living zombie” on the screen, created a space within me, in which my bodily experience of the film transferred itself magically into the manifested terror by the death of my OWN space within the time of the life I am given. Big words. Big thoughts. Big Film."
The stream of emotional consciousness in my earlier writing (Holland, 2008), adopted:"Woman on the verge, in white silk".
"Silk skeletons. Medically unexplained. What to do. She wonders around her empty, new lodgings. She films her surroundings and herself…crying……….. dancing…pretending to be asleep. Trying to fit into the space and circling the apartment: searching for details to pay attention to…what is she doing here why is she here, who is she…Looking out the window…she zooms in and tries to focus onto a street sign outside her building. It is in Dutch. It means little to her….shes not here for long….A physical manifestation of a tower of emotional weaknesses….towers of rejections….of refusals …as a reminder of fragility of existence nothing is certain. ..what about feelings? Hurt by men she hides. ......... Why do we need the touch the attention to make us think we are alive we are wanted we exist in this wide labyrinth of pain. World is painful. Forgotten phone calls…..insecurities…rejected loves and rejected lovers...she is on edge on edge of pain sharp fragility strong feelings for each person she meets, she imagines scenarios, she flaps her wings, she is not who she thinks she is... she suffers each one.The freedom, the boredom of existence, who said boredom drives humanity to progress? I am moving I am here I am breathing ……...are you aware of that? My heart beats I can feel it hear it…...nothingness.
Water drips……..sound of streets….the empty room filmed….
What is to be done?
When you have no restrictions and no responsibilities, are you really free or are you always forever bound to your one true non-free being-yourself? Your memories.
She stares she cooks washes shops walks draws fucks.
She.
It is about her.
All about her. The Edge of her.
Nothing can stop her…
Nothing can touch her now, no one can hurt her….
Emptiness of being and existing she wants her ears to hurt from music in her headphones..hurt her hurt me make me sweat make me run run hard run away from you let me breath shut my eyes shut my mouth make me bleed.Have you ever known physical pain of being alone? Show me. The empty world of non emotional states of existing in a vortex of unbearable love. How to live after and before this love? How do you survive feeling beauty and wonder in every particle of dust to the upside down shadows of nocturnal nightmares and unnecessary dejavus in foreign countries? How do you run and keep running from those memories ? How do you stop fragility and weakness, brittle- snap snap a flaw in character, easy to break damage or harm, delicate, not strong, secure unlikely to sustain any severe strain or stresses in a weak or useless bodily state…
Open to emotional wounds or Likely to fall collapse or sway subject to spontaneous change .. brief existence……apt to change.. unsteady unsure of intent.Having a brief half life.
All of these men:The hurt the pain the constant fear of rejection, obsessions ingrained insecurity and interdependence on approval tell me I'm beautiful tell me I'm worthy of your time tell me who I am rescue me from my misery tell me I'm your love, don’t touch me, don’t leave me don’t hurt me…..…fictional or real…tried to recapture each one .. where am I going wrong?"
For Piano and Joseph Beuys,
4 hr performance,
February, 2010
@Uncommon territories,
Heaven Gallery
