Saturday, 18 July 2009
... white, white, white, that's what I know.
A room full of white floorboards, window frames, walls and doors. And a bit of orange and lime green.
A room in a flat full of history: of someone's ex-flatmate, of others' ex-comrade, of someone's ex-lover, and another ones ex-lover. Right in the middle of Kreuzberg and the lives lived here.
And still: the flat isn't lived in, noone's home other than temporarily mine. With all its history, memories and things. And the smell of current emptiness.
A room full of white. Obvious white. What's with the layers of it - the windows got painted, new layers on top of old ones. Will they hold? Will they peel away?
Thus: some cartridge paper, some glue, some tissue paper, some acrylic ink and a marker pen. For a start.
Weiss, weiss, weiss, das weiss ich....
It's about experience and knowledge in the middle of interior still life. I am sitting on my new bed and marvel at the sights of whiteness, colour and their invisible connections to past and presence.
Next: better glue, more marker pen, more ink, other walls and windows.