Gears, bluetooth speaker, chain, red sweater
Third
2022A sweater is slowly unravelled and spooled onto a speaker. The speaker repeats the same story, over and over. Repeating itself, in thirds.
A kinetic installation dealing with the problems of immobility or perceived movement in interpersonal communication. This work being a result of intrinsic result into the presence of silence within sound, pauses in communication, absence within volume.
Text:
Third. Three separate moments. One after the other accounting for an incapability to move forward. Third, indefinitely last. If there was anything to count on, let it be that.
It had been his fault, she said. The reason why standing alone beside her kitchen counter felt like a burden, more than it should. He had left her with little but questions. Which, in turn, left her to answer them with an unfounded sense of certainty. She poured her espresso slowly, trying to stretch the time in order to figure out what to do next. He had left her in the middle of an argument, one of many, and to her knowledge not bothered to return. Since then it had been almost 3 years and 4 months. Her waiting had not yet stopped.
He was four when him and his sister had been put across from one another, adult hands firmly wrapped around his shoulders, followed by: “And now we say sorry”, with little to nothing preceding the: “And now”. His stomach turned when the pressure of these words made him softly say: “I’m sorry”. After which his sister, with a little nudge in her back, hugged him and all had to be good.
They will not talk.
Third. Three separate moments. One after the other accounting for an incapability to move forward. Third, indefinitely last. If there was anything to count on, let it be that.
His father used to hit him with the flat side of his slipper. He remembered the look on his fathers face before it would happen. The big bushy brows frowning, dark umber eyes staring firmly at his hand, swiftly, from up to down, quickly approaching. The smell of traveled rubber, his fathers feet filling the room.
The first time he held someone was unfamiliar. He had not known this form of touch. He wanted to cry but knew better.
His grave lies, regrettingly, unvisited.
Third. Three separate moments. One after the other accounting for an incapability to move forward. Third, indefinitely last. If there was anything to count on, let it be that.
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