Today is a heavy day, so I dress lightly – by Jonas Morgenthaler

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Seli­n­a’s tree branch, sewing need­les, white cot­ton shred

Landing in para­di­se sur­pri­ses to be hard, I stumb­le and bump into every cor­ner the­re is to find as hospi­ta­li­ty pro­ves in fun­ny tra­di­ti­ons; thank­ful­ly deli­ber­ate­ly upheld by all solid things that try to kick me awa­ke. Should I bet­ter open or clo­se the roof, I won­der, it loo­ks like rain and the plants need water.

Cand­les (the big­ger, yel­low one out of bees­wax), dried echi­n­acea, glas bot­t­le, coa­ted cer­a­mic brick, glass hol­ders, steel ring and bars with pla­stic caps, bast fibres basket

Not so long ago, I was told that the awa­ke­ned rule the night­ma­res drea­med by tho­se still asleep. And as much as I’d curious­ly expa­tia­te what trans­gres­ses day­light-logic, my morning finds it so hard to remem­ber dreams, no rea­sons for anything that embo­dies the wan­ting to talk about some­thing only.
Rather mat­ter that stays to its­elf, to its onto­lo­gi­cal anar­chy, its hete­ro­no­mous mate­ri­al-ethi­cal gift, its per­pe­tu­al trans­for­ma­ti­ve potential.

Anyways, the­re won’t be not­hing big to move today any­mo­re, real­ly, thus embra­cing what’s to hap­pen tomor­row without having touched anything yet should be alright. I can­not tell if it’s rai­ning still or again real­ly.
For now, being alo­ne around and out­side is more or less the same, the depen­den­cy to and from the vis-a-vis redoes its cir­cles, no mat­ter if we think about it or not.

Engra­ved woo­den pie­ce from a cup­board, birch ply­wood, screw nut, hemp cord
Stick, sewing thread, pipe clamp, hook, hang tags, white cot­ton shred, (back­ground: woo­den marbles)

I rea­li­sed to still be wai­t­ing for some­thing to reas­su­re me being around, anything that offers to trust tru­sting. Vir­tua­li­ty comes to com­po­se its gran­dest effects right here; I guess we’­re the stron­gest ver­si­on of our­sel­ves sticking to explo­re the small things and figu­ring what they want from the hands they’re touched with. A wil­low bends over the count­less carps in one of the count­less ponds, the bran­ches drum­ming the water. Swim­ming, we weren’t awa­re that the­re was that many fishes and got sca­red, retro­spec­tively and unsu­re of what precisely.

Wood and found objects from the sto­rage of the house

She has­n’t been to a hou­se this moon­struck in a while, my mom said, but kept on worry­ing pri­vi­ly for a kid to fall in bet­ween the steps of the stairs. Still, no rea­sons for anything that would­n’t bear more than ana­lo­gi­cal­ly exem­pli­fy­ing the image, the idea or its rela­ting body. Still no rea­son­ab­le attempts for rea­son­ab­le monu­ments. None­theless I want to belie­ve in every con­nec­tion made anew, it’s a hea­vy day today, so I dress lightly.

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During my resi­den­cy at Vil­le­kul­la, I worked pri­ma­ri­ly with objects and mate­ri­als that were to be found in and around the hou­se. Using things that eit­her would­n’t call for a spe­ci­fic owner or that belong to some­bo­dy else, I wan­ted to enga­ge the fin­dings tem­pora­ri­ly only, and in a way that they could find their way back to whe­re they were picked up again. Assem­bled in an ama­teu­rist, play­ful and col­la­ge-like style but with detail­ed manu­al dex­teri­ty, the instal­la­ti­ons push tech­no­lo­gi­cal norms to absur­di­ty. The pro­per­ties of objects and the ways we enga­ge with them get que­stio­ned and their tem­pora­ry repur­po­sing thus stres­ses the dif­fe­rence in value bet­ween an art object and a not-yet art object. More docu­men­ta­ti­on can be found here.

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