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ART AND ME

I remember this time as a period of thinking what my work was about. I said (and thought) for a very long time that my work was based on coincidences. As if I, as an individual, was enough of an explanation. My work as a purely personal given. My brain as a kind of unconscious machine, filtering notable events used as inspiration.

I feel like self-denial has been such a major part of my life. Meanwhile making and explaining art for me feels like placing yourself so clearly in a spotlight. I guess it was necessary for me to witness this radical change in thinking about myself, as caring about your work means caring about yourself.

How it is beautiful, this linearity between art and ‘the self’. I am still convinced that a large part of what I do as an artist, originated in my daily life. I feel like I can’t call myself a researcher, as I don’t deliberately look for reason or answer. I consider myself an experience-interpreter.

And here comes my change in self-reflexivity: my work is not based on coincidence, how beautiful that may sound, it is based on the harsh reality that happens to be my life. It is personal, though is not purely personal. It is fuelled by memories and reinforced by the present. It is political, in a sense that the personal becomes political.

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