Epilating Legs - 4 October 2019
Why:
Only after watching my own video of me epilating my legs, I understood the extent to which, we women, objectify our bodies, and the pains and suffering we endure thereof. It is Life which is sacred. The remains that we leave daily behind us, the tracks our body sheds daily, are the relics of this Holiness, Wholeness, in which we exist. The Holiness and Wholeness which we are. My art-practice is an ongoing act of devotion to life; to being alive. It is not the art that I worship. The objects which are being made in the wake of my worship, my “art”, are the not very important remains of my continue acts of devotion, are the tracks I happen to leave behind me; as the fall leaves are forgotten by the tree, strong, hundreds of years old, reaching ever closer to heaven. I spit after brushing my teeth, I shed my hair and skin, I tend to my garden, I shed my blood. Hair is one of my “obsessions”. Beauty and death. My hair as an expression and symbol of my youth and my vitality; it is a jewel to manifest my beauty with. My hairs and bones will be the last to remain after the rest of me was long rotten and eaten by the white chubby worms, slowly yet tenaciously and very very fast, long ago. The never stopping, ever relentless visuals of the piles of human hair left in the gas-chambers. Hairs are the visualisation, materialization, of time. Time passing by, hair growing, hair turning white, hair falls off. A hair lock of a loved one, long gone, kept in a drawer. The Other is encapsulated in a single hair. The same hair lock spoken about before, in the same drawer, in the same room; memories which refuse to forget me. The remains of hair in the bathroom of a foreign hotel room, so disgusting and dirty – a strange body intrudes in my own sacred space.
Why:
Only after watching my own video of me epilating my legs, I understood the extent to which, we women, objectify our bodies, and the pains and suffering we endure thereof. It is Life which is sacred. The remains that we leave daily behind us, the tracks our body sheds daily, are the relics of this Holiness, Wholeness, in which we exist. The Holiness and Wholeness which we are. My art-practice is an ongoing act of devotion to life; to being alive. It is not the art that I worship. The objects which are being made in the wake of my worship, my “art”, are the not very important remains of my continue acts of devotion, are the tracks I happen to leave behind me; as the fall leaves are forgotten by the tree, strong, hundreds of years old, reaching ever closer to heaven. I spit after brushing my teeth, I shed my hair and skin, I tend to my garden, I shed my blood. Hair is one of my “obsessions”. Beauty and death. My hair as an expression and symbol of my youth and my vitality; it is a jewel to manifest my beauty with. My hairs and bones will be the last to remain after the rest of me was long rotten and eaten by the white chubby worms, slowly yet tenaciously and very very fast, long ago. The never stopping, ever relentless visuals of the piles of human hair left in the gas-chambers. Hairs are the visualisation, materialization, of time. Time passing by, hair growing, hair turning white, hair falls off. A hair lock of a loved one, long gone, kept in a drawer. The Other is encapsulated in a single hair. The same hair lock spoken about before, in the same drawer, in the same room; memories which refuse to forget me. The remains of hair in the bathroom of a foreign hotel room, so disgusting and dirty – a strange body intrudes in my own sacred space.