

Mami 


             This moving garden installation centers around a small ceramic dog named Mami, who sits atop a pillar, and whose belly has been sliced open. From the belly flows a steady stream of water, which in turn is slowly irrigated into the soil of the garden below. From the garden we see the growth of a variety of weeds which had been gathered from in and around the Binckhorst’s Dogtown surroundings. The aim to visualise the moral paradox of growth through violence by following a story about my mother and her friend; Mami the dog. 
             The story goes that every year my mother and her colleagues would work for some months in the small greek town of Narthaki, where Mami lived. Every year that they went, Mami would be pregnant, or nursing a new litter, and since Mami was a street dog this proved to be a particularly excessive strain on her body. After a time of noticing this cycle my mom, together with her colleagues, collected enough money to get Mami spayed, and in this way, spared her somewhat from the conditions of her circumstance. 
             The anxiety of pregnancy and the threat it presents unto the body antagonizes an old moral code. Following the writings of Silvia Federici in Caliban and the Witch; chilbearing has longtime been a condition of womanhood and motherhood. It is through this ideology that the female body could be claimed by a (christian) patriarchy, and where a loss of fertility assumes ‘a loss of purpose’. With Mami however, spaying is approached as a necessary act by which she can lead a full life. This installation therefore, reflects on the duality by which an act of violence and supposed mutilation, is simultaneously one of growth and mercy. 
             The social condition of ‘growth’ emerges as a challenge through the state of the garden as well. Rather than it being neat and clean, the garden is fast growing, wild, and full of unwanted street seeds, brambles, bushes, and saplings. These leafy ‘outsiders’ are reimagined in a frame of subversive possibilities for strength, furthermore posing a question on the nature of desired, and undesired identity/reproduction. 
             The location of Dogtown frames this work in a surrounding of hybrid collage, playfully disruptive graffiti, and experimental material. This, along with the out-of-the-way nature of the garage, turns the space into a kind of secret, anarchist dwelling through which new forms of expression and identity begin to develop. Mami, in this push and pull environment, reconciles its vulnerability as a source for power, and amidst the fiery tempers of the Dogtown, grows into it, unfettered.


             Anna

             This moving garden installation centers around a small ceramic dog named Mami, who sits atop a pillar, and whose belly has been sliced open. From the belly flows a steady stream of water, which in turn is slowly irrigated into the soil of the garden below. From the garden we see the growth of a variety of weeds which had been gathered from in and around the Binckhorst’s Dogtown surroundings. The aim to visualise the moral paradox of growth through violence by following a story about my mother and her friend; Mami the dog. 

             The story goes that every year my mother and her colleagues would work for some months in the small greek town of Narthaki, where Mami lived. Every year that they went, Mami would be pregnant, or nursing a new litter, and since Mami was a street dog this proved to be a particularly excessive strain on her body. After a time of noticing this cycle my mom, together with her colleagues, collected enough money to get Mami spayed, and in this way, spared her somewhat from the conditions of her circumstance. 

             The anxiety of pregnancy and the threat it presents unto the body antagonizes an old moral code. Following the writings of Silvia Federici in Caliban and the Witch; chilbearing has longtime been a condition of womanhood and motherhood. It is through this ideology that the female body could be claimed by a (christian) patriarchy, and where a loss of fertility assumes ‘a loss of purpose’. With Mami however, spaying is approached as a necessary act by which she can lead a full life. This installation therefore, reflects on the duality by which an act of violence and supposed mutilation, is simultaneously one of growth and mercy. 

             The social condition of ‘growth’ emerges as a challenge through the state of the garden as well. Rather than it being neat and clean, the garden is fast growing, wild, and full of unwanted street seeds, brambles, bushes, and saplings. These leafy ‘outsiders’ are reimagined in a frame of subversive possibilities for strength, furthermore posing a question on the nature of desired, and undesired identity/reproduction. 

             The location of Dogtown frames this work in a surrounding of hybrid collage, playfully disruptive graffiti, and experimental material. This, along with the out-of-the-way nature of the garage, turns the space into a kind of secret, anarchist dwelling through which new forms of expression and identity begin to develop. Mami, in this push and pull environment, reconciles its vulnerability as a source for power, and amidst the fiery tempers of the Dogtown, grows into it, unfettered.



“Theodora and the Flood”


Hey! On December 10th I’m going to tell you a story about two women and flood. Let’s talk a bit about it first.

You know a flood is a flood when there’s egregious amounts of 💦 liquids💦.
You know a liquid is a liquid when it fills a 🌫 space🌫 .
What liquids are we 🚫 not🚫 okay with filling spaces?
Which people are we 🚫 not🚫 okay with filling spaces?

🌊 Floods🌊 can be as 🍯 sweet🍯 as the Great Boston Molasses Spill of 1919 or as 🌌 dark🌌 as the Pennsylvania Death Fog in 1948. But a 💧flood💧 can also be a huge crowd of 👩‍👩‍👦‍👦 people👩‍👩‍👦‍👦 or blowing your 👃 nose👃 too hard in January. All we need to know about them is it’s time to ⚠️stand back⚠️

“ Hark! I WILL squirt my pimple juice on you, sir. I will spit on the sidewalk next to your feet and clog your sink with sewage. When you step back I will step forward and when you step forward I will also step forward. This is what it means to flood. “

I’m so 😌 happy😌 to be having this 🖼 exhibition🖼 for you and I’d like you to come so I can 💩 poop💩 in your pants!


Hey! On December 10th I’m going to tell you a story about two women and flood. Let’s talk a bit about it first.

You know a flood is a flood when there’s egregious amounts of 💦 liquids💦.

You know a liquid is a liquid when it fills a 🌫 space🌫 .

What liquids are we 🚫 not🚫 okay with filling spaces?

Which people are we 🚫 not🚫 okay with filling spaces?

🌊 Floods🌊 can be as 🍯 sweet🍯 as the Great Boston Molasses Spill of 1919 or as 🌌 dark🌌 as the Pennsylvania Death Fog in 1948. But a 💧flood💧 can also be a huge crowd of 👩‍👩‍👦‍👦 people👩‍👩‍👦‍👦 or blowing your 👃 nose👃 too hard in January. All we need to know about them is it’s time to ⚠️stand back⚠️

“ Hark! I WILL squirt my pimple juice on you, sir. I will spit on the sidewalk next to your feet and clog your sink with sewage. When you step back I will step forward and when you step forward I will also step forward. This is what it means to flood. “

I’m so 😌 happy😌 to be having this 🖼 exhibition🖼 for you and I’d like you to come so I can 💩 poop💩 in your pants!




untitled

A TEXT ABOUT MY WORK BUT MY WORK CAN WRITE IT BETTER. 

The work produced from sept-now has been about expressing personal anger and disgust with you and with myself (but mostly with you). I want to make you feel uncomfortable be put in place because I don’t feel like hiding anymore I want To Take Up Space, perhaps/probably/ultimately your space, and confront you with what you do. I don’t care about being wrong I don’t care about being right. all I want is to be all the space in your head. /// to relieve the pressure on my head.

Like a parasite, I want to infect your thoughts with feelings of guilt, shock, anger, sadness or shame, without rationalizing it, just what I feel, not what you feel, no empathy, not even for myself maybe this is the most emphatic thing that I have done for myself.

Narcissistic work.

Unfiltered thoughts to come to the truth of what I feel.

And to let that work infect all over so it can be the only thing you feel, always finding a way into our eyesight.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A told me to remove my “graffiti” from the windows, because they believed that if the owner of the building would get scared when he sees it, as it is seemingly too “street”. They think it looks like vandalism.

To me, this is complete bullshit.

First of all, we are located in the Binckhorstlaan, a location filled with street art.

Secondly, it is an artwork, not vandalism. I think this is extremely disrespectful towards my work and effort.

Thirdly, it would be removed at the end of the exhibition, it was not permanent.

4. Art should scare you sometimes

5. It was never communicated to me it was not allowed. We were told to leave the building in the state that it was in before (there was even graffiti on there when we came in!!)

6. I am placed in the group “animal city, where wild hybrid figures roam”, yet I’m not allowed to be even slightly “wild”?

7. To limit art means to disrespect art. Art is there to go where it wants to go.

8. My work is about taking over space, and being able to express my anger/frustration.

9. Anger is the last act of love. Frustration is healing.

A. I hope you can understand my opinion.



A TEXT ABOUT MY WORK BUT MY WORK CAN WRITE IT BETTER. 

The work produced from sept-now has been about expressing personal anger and disgust with you and with myself (but mostly with you). I want to make you feel uncomfortable be put in place because I don’t feel like hiding anymore I want To Take Up Space, perhaps/probably/ultimately your space, and confront you with what you do. I don’t care about being wrong I don’t care about being right. all I want is to be all the space in your head. /// to relieve the pressure on my head.

Like a parasite, I want to infect your thoughts with feelings of guilt, shock, anger, sadness or shame, without rationalizing it, just what I feel, not what you feel, no empathy, not even for myself maybe this is the most emphatic thing that I have done for myself.

Unfiltered thoughts to come to the truth of what I feel.

And to let that work infect all over so it can be the only thing you feel, always finding a way into our eyesight.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A told me to remove my “graffiti” from the windows, because they believed that if the owner of the building would get scared when he sees it, as it is seemingly too “street”. They think it looks like vandalism.

To me, this is complete bullshit.

First of all, we are located in the Binckhorstlaan, a location filled with street art.

Secondly, it is an artwork, not vandalism. I think this is extremely disrespectful towards my work and effort.

Thirdly, it would be removed at the end of the exhibition, it was not permanent.

4. Art should scare you sometimes


5. It was never communicated to me it was not allowed. We were told to leave the building in the state that it was in before (there was even graffiti on there when we came in!!)


6. I am placed in the group “animal city, where wild hybrid figures roam”, yet I’m not allowed to be even slightly “wild”?

7. To limit art means to disrespect art. Art is there to go where it wants to go.

8. My work is about taking over space, and being able to express my anger/frustration.


9. Anger is the last act of love. Frustration is healing.

A. I hope you can understand my opinion.



Title(s): * en
“Ik maakte dit werk in de hoop dat ik me daardoor een groot kunstenaar zou voelen. Maar dat gebeurde niet. Dus ik zal dit nooit meer doen. ”

Een orgaan dat opzwelt. De lucht langzaam in en uit inhaleer, het ademt, het leeft. Een ruimte zo groot, dat als je erin beweegt, je voor een moment je van de wereld begeeft. Een raster openbaart zich met het licht dat er doorheen valt. Van buiten een zeppelin, ruimteschip of walvis. Maar voornamelijk een orgaan dat de ruimte heeft overgenomen als een kankergezwel. Het zit klem en vast en probeert overal doorheen te komen. Van binnen een schuilplek in isolatie afgesneden van zijn omgeving. Een ruimte die functioneert als grot, een plek om terug te keren naar jezelf. Een Utopia in een Dystopie. Een veranderende wereld vol van desinformatie en ziekte, die ons bewustzijn verziekt. Door miscommunicatie als een bewust gelegde knoop in ons trommelvlies. Kunnen we ons afvragen, wat betekent het nog om eerlijk te zijn? Gehaat als we alleen geliefd worden. Wanneer zijn we het eerlijkst? Is dat wanneer we ons hart op tafel leggen? Of presenteert het zich als de stromende watervallen over onze wangen glijden? Misschien zijn we wel te bewust geworden van eerlijkheid. Een tool om te misbruiken. Ga met ons mee in een zoektocht van liefde, pijn en verdriet.

Er is geen marmer maar wel gekanker.
Geen koffie wel bier.
Kunst als heroïne.
Als levensbehoefte.
Niet voor de koning maar de zwerver.
Fuck de insta story's.
Leef is godverdomme!



English version
Title(s): * and
“ I made this work hoping it would make me feel like a great artist. But it did not. So I will never do this again. ”

An organ that swells. The air goes slowly in and out, it inhales, it breathes, it is a life. A space so big that you are for a moment of this world. A grid forms around you. From the outside a zeppelin, spaceship or whale. But mainly an organ that has taken over the space, like a cancer tumor. It’s stuck and tries to get through everything. The inside, a shelter cut off in isolation from its surroundings. A space that functions as a cave and a place to return to yourself. A Utopia in a Dystopia. A changing world full of disinformation and disease that is ruining our consciousness. Through miscommunication as a consciously tied knot in our eardrum. Can we ask ourselves, what does it mean to be honest? Only hated when we are loved. The fairest to yourself? Is that when we put our hearts on the table? Or do we only see it when gushing waterfalls sliding down our cheeks? Maybe we have become too aware of honesty. A tool to abuse. Join us in a quest of love, pain and sorrow.

Not marble but cancer.
Not coffee but beer.
Art like heroin.
As a necessity of life.
Not for the king, but the hobo on the streets.
Fuck the insta story’s.
Life is goddamnit!




“Ik maakte dit werk in de hoop dat ik me daardoor een groot kunstenaar zou voelen. Maar dat gebeurde niet. Dus ik zal dit nooit meer doen. ”

Een orgaan dat opzwelt. De lucht langzaam in en uit inhaleer, het ademt, het leeft. Een ruimte zo groot, dat als je erin beweegt, je voor een moment je van de wereld begeeft. Een raster openbaart zich met het licht dat er doorheen valt. Van buiten een zeppelin, ruimteschip of walvis. Maar voornamelijk een orgaan dat de ruimte heeft overgenomen als een kankergezwel. Het zit klem en vast en probeert overal doorheen te komen. Van binnen een schuilplek in isolatie afgesneden van zijn omgeving. Een ruimte die functioneert als grot, een plek om terug te keren naar jezelf. Een Utopia in een Dystopie. Een veranderende wereld vol van desinformatie en ziekte, die ons bewustzijn verziekt. Door miscommunicatie als een bewust gelegde knoop in ons trommelvlies. Kunnen we ons afvragen, wat betekent het nog om eerlijk te zijn? Gehaat als we alleen geliefd worden. Wanneer zijn we het eerlijkst? Is dat wanneer we ons hart op tafel leggen? Of presenteert het zich als de stromende watervallen over onze wangen glijden? Misschien zijn we wel te bewust geworden van eerlijkheid. Een tool om te misbruiken. Ga met ons mee in een zoektocht van liefde, pijn en verdriet.

“ I made this work hoping it would make me feel like a great artist. But it did not. So I will never do this again. ”

An organ that swells. The air goes slowly in and out, it inhales, it breathes, it is a life. A space so big that you are for a moment of this world. A grid forms around you. From the outside a zeppelin, spaceship or whale. But mainly an organ that has taken over the space, like a cancer tumor. It’s stuck and tries to get through everything. The inside, a shelter cut off in isolation from its surroundings. A space that functions as a cave and a place to return to yourself. A Utopia in a Dystopia. A changing world full of disinformation and disease that is ruining our consciousness. Through miscommunication as a consciously tied knot in our eardrum. Can we ask ourselves, what does it mean to be honest? Only hated when we are loved. The fairest to yourself? Is that when we put our hearts on the table? Or do we only see it when gushing waterfalls sliding down our cheeks? Maybe we have become too aware of honesty. A tool to abuse. Join us in a quest of love, pain and sorrow.

Not for the king, but the hobo on the streets.


Pons Asinorum - Donkey Bridge

Night is dark
Giant Uma arrives in Egypt                                                              
Before Moses kills the golden calf

Night is dark
Giant Uma arrives in Egypt
Before they destroy all the holy animals

Night is so dark
She can only save one
                                                                                          a little one         
                                                                                   the weakest one
this little, weakest one
will carry the child of God to Jerusalem!


In the matriarchal period, Uma was a goddess for Mongolia, who protected babies, pregnant women and animals. She offered protection to all vulnerable beings in difficult life situations.

In this oil painting(270x150cm) and site specific mural, Uma as a foreign goddess has been introduced to the well known biblical narrative - Moses and the Golden Calf. Moses returned to Egypt, burnt the Golden Calf which was worshiped by Hebrews during the period of the Exodus. Moses punished the calf worshippers, forced them to drink water which was mixed with molten gold from the calf.

Uma interrupted this storyline, she arrived in Egypt and tried to protect calf worshippers and all other holy animals. However, she couldn’t help many, she only managed to save one, a little one - the Messiah’s donkey. And this little donkey will carry Jesus to Jerusalem. Therefore, if Uma didn’t save the donkey, Jesus wouldn't reach Jerusalem, and Moses wouldn’t become the future Moses himself.

By displacing a foreign goddess from a matriarchal time into biblical literature, a time travel happens here. Uma enters another territory and disturbs the linear passage of “history”. Her presence synthesises a novel path which reterritorializes the over-celebrated anthropocentric world.

Her protection offered to the other species simply shows: the other as being the other-self. Rescue the other, rescue the other-self.





Giant Uma arrives in Egypt                                                              
Before Moses kills the golden calf

Giant Uma arrives in Egypt
Before they destroy all the holy animals

                                                                                          a little one         
                                                                                   the weakest one

this little, weakest one
will carry the child of God to Jerusalem!

In the matriarchal period, Uma was a goddess for Mongolia, who protected babies, pregnant women and animals. She offered protection to all vulnerable beings in difficult life situations.

In this oil painting(270x150cm) and site specific mural, Uma as a foreign goddess has been introduced to the well known biblical narrative - Moses and the Golden Calf. Moses returned to Egypt, burnt the Golden Calf which was worshiped by Hebrews during the period of the Exodus. Moses punished the calf worshippers, forced them to drink water which was mixed with molten gold from the calf.

Uma interrupted this storyline, she arrived in Egypt and tried to protect calf worshippers and all other holy animals. However, she couldn’t help many, she only managed to save one, a little one - the Messiah’s donkey. And this little donkey will carry Jesus to Jerusalem. Therefore, if Uma didn’t save the donkey, Jesus wouldn't reach Jerusalem, and Moses wouldn’t become the future Moses himself.

By displacing a foreign goddess from a matriarchal time into biblical literature, a time travel happens here. Uma enters another territory and disturbs the linear passage of “history”. Her presence synthesises a novel path which reterritorializes the over-celebrated anthropocentric world.

Her protection offered to the other species simply shows: the other as being the other-self. Rescue the other, rescue the other-self.






How do Caribbean fictional and non-fictional spaces interact, relate, disconnect, clash and coincide? What is the Caribbean non-fictional, and fictional space to me? To the world? Is it a construct that is the result of the gradual evolution from the plantation fields to a notion of paradise?

Is the Caribbean to the Western World a collection of interchangeable islands? If so, how is that possible when the reality is that the history of the Caribbean is one of the main strands in the history of capitalism?

Are these questions themselves a representation of a non-fictional Caribbean space?

How do I recreate a space that allows viewers to ask themselves questions about the reality and unreality of the region that I call home?

This work navigates these questions through a recreated space where both fictional and non-fictional Caribbean realities exist; they don’t necessarily co-exist, but are also not mutually exclusive. I’m not looking to answer questions, but to play with them, to ask more. I’m exploring these curiosities by using visual languages which connect to recurring themes that stand out from the questions above. The use of the language of advertisement and construction equipment comes from wanting to play with how the notion of paradise is sold to begin with, and how everything feels like a construct at times. Always unfinished and always under construction.


How do Caribbean fictional and non-fictional spaces interact, relate, disconnect, clash and coincide? What is the Caribbean non-fictional, and fictional space to me? To the world? Is it a construct that is the result of the gradual evolution from the plantation fields to a notion of paradise?

Is the Caribbean to the Western World a collection of interchangeable islands? If so, how is that possible when the reality is that the history of the Caribbean is one of the main strands in the history of capitalism?

Are these questions themselves a representation of a non-fictional Caribbean space?

How do I recreate a space that allows viewers to ask themselves questions about the reality and unreality of the region that I call home?

This work navigates these questions through a recreated space where both fictional and non-fictional Caribbean realities exist; they don’t necessarily co-exist, but are also not mutually exclusive. I’m not looking to answer questions, but to play with them, to ask more. I’m exploring these curiosities by using visual languages which connect to recurring themes that stand out from the questions above. The use of the language of advertisement and construction equipment comes from wanting to play with how the notion of paradise is sold to begin with, and how everything feels like a construct at times. Always unfinished and always under construction.


The influence of others.

Here I have placed myself in a position of vulnerability by showing my emotions and mind. I am the heart of the work since I know myself and all my faces, expressions and intentions, but know not of others. I discern only what they choose to show me, their first face.

They are a sea of masks surrounding me, they will watch without seeing, judge without knowing. I love and hate them as they do me, showering me with words of great meaning and words that are hollow to the core. I work on what I let in and what I let influence who I am and what I will do.

I show the first impression, a moment in time of a crowd of watchers. How they impact me, how vulnerable and raw I become for them. It is a step I must go through. I cannot skip it or deny it, it is like that of a ritual.

Some heads are warm and bright drawing you in, others are dark and cold. Although light will always lure you away from the dark, since we all seek comfort, the dark has just as much to show us.

Like moths to a flame, you will be drawn to the light, but you need others to tell when you are getting too close, or you will burn out like the many before you.
My centerpiece is the colour of flesh and blood giving the impression of openness, raw to influence. It is the one that draws the eye, for it stands out and is different. I have placed it purposely in the centre of attention using the performance of art to speak out my intention.

I must, since I desire to be open to the world, so I can shout even louder. But without preparation I become the target of those who like to play a game of power. A game that will not play nice to those untrained to handle what is thrown at them. Strength in learning is my solution, lots of support and help along the way, for going solo is the fool’s errand. You are never alone; you must never be alone.

You become one with the watchers, by making contact with the sea of heads.

Who do you want to be? Where do you want to go?
Make way to the path you choose.




Here I have placed myself in a position of vulnerability by showing my emotions and mind. I am the heart of the work since I know myself and all my faces, expressions and intentions, but know not of others. I discern only what they choose to show me, their first face.

They are a sea of masks surrounding me, they will watch without seeing, judge without knowing. I love and hate them as they do me, showering me with words of great meaning and words that are hollow to the core. I work on what I let in and what I let influence who I am and what I will do.

I show the first impression, a moment in time of a crowd of watchers. How they impact me, how vulnerable and raw I become for them. It is a step I must go through. I cannot skip it or deny it, it is like that of a ritual.

Some heads are warm and bright drawing you in, others are dark and cold. Although light will always lure you away from the dark, since we all seek comfort, the dark has just as much to show us.

Like moths to a flame, you will be drawn to the light, but you need others to tell when you are getting too close, or you will burn out like the many before you.

My centerpiece is the colour of flesh and blood giving the impression of openness, raw to influence. It is the one that draws the eye, for it stands out and is different. I have placed it purposely in the centre of attention using the performance of art to speak out my intention.

I must, since I desire to be open to the world, so I can shout even louder. But without preparation I become the target of those who like to play a game of power. A game that will not play nice to those untrained to handle what is thrown at them. Strength in learning is my solution, lots of support and help along the way, for going solo is the fool’s errand. You are never alone; you must never be alone.

You become one with the watchers, by making contact with the sea of heads.

Who do you want to be? Where do you want to go?







Small scale wall pieces that derive from the ever-changing public space that is constantly inside the motion of construction and deconstruction; our building drive.

In my practice I tend to work within this in-between state; working with roughly smeared plaster, construction rods, saw marks, masking tape and so on.











 

Small scale wall pieces that derive from the ever-changing public space that is constantly inside the motion of construction and deconstruction; our building drive.

In my practice I tend to work within this in-between state; working with roughly smeared plaster, construction rods, saw marks, masking tape and so on.