Linen, yoghurt, charcoal, and projections in space.
A flickering of light. A shadow lazily sweeping across the floor. A breath, a dusty fingerprint of charcoal. The space as a capsule in time but constantly changing as the passerby knowingly or unknowingly touches it. Everything is as still as it is ever-changing. Fleeting, ephemeral.
Movements melt into the natural linen, real and imaginary at the same time. As you walk through the space, your presence is acknowledged by the fabric swaying in the puff of air. The charcoal walls will leave a mark on you, but you will mark them in return. The space changes with you just like a memory that you go over and over and over, until it's permanently altered.
Photographer: Andrea Bonderup
A gentle breath of wind, an eggshell cracking open, a dream.
By obsessively adding and erasing and adding and erasing, a drawing emerges on the surface of the paper only to be changed again and again. A moving drawing is being made. Charcoal is messy, it has its own will although it can be erased with the slightest touch, the warmth of your fingers even an accidental breath onto the surface. Working with it is similar to trying to catch a dream after waking up - grasping for the fainting images, textures, or shapes of something that almost happened.
I obsessively try to capture these dreams. Whether I actually dreamt them or not it does not matter, since they've never been tangible from the beginning.