sculptural interventions
(ongoing project)

Casts of body shapes - knee, thigh, calf, abdomen, elbow - emerge from the gallery walls. A half-dozen of these sculptural interventions were spread over the gallery space. They are "pale as the wall itself", hardly noticeable. Only light and shadow define their materiality. They are titled with texts of prose that combine with the sculpted image to form fictitious portraits, incarnate memories, blending in with the existing architecture.

a matter of trust and contact

Four desks display 50 sheets of handwriting - remarks, comments, or observations, by Toronto citizens in their first language and writing. The writing samples were combined with textual fragments that sketch the situation, the person, the act of writing and the sharing of an intimate thought.

Toronto is the world's most multicultural city. Because the majority of the population are immigrants, the most frequently asked question is: "Were are you from?". In Toronto, people do not share "one history", there are thousands of stories of leaving one's country, one's family, one's childhood, back in "another place" in the world. Memories mix with reality, images and perceptions overlay each other in multiple layers. The multicultural society translates into multipersonality for the individual. Most harbor an unfullfilled longing for their "utopia", perhaps describing an imaginary spot where Canada merges seamlessly with the places of their childhood. Any affirmation of a new home carries with it ambiguity, nourished by distant images and fading memories.

drawings

Drawings 2001-2003.

She would let the knife glide over the skin. Increase the pressure, until a cut would form. Lengthen the cut. Follow the flow of blood. Watch the disappearance of warmth. And feel, how otherness invades this body.

Sie stand in der Küche an die Wand gelehnt. Das linke Bein vor das rechte gestellt, worauf ihr ganzes Gewicht ruhte. Sie half nicht. Sie sah nur zu, wie meistens.

She stood in the kitchen, leaning against the wall. The left leg crossed before the right one, which carried her whole weight. She did not help. She just watched, like she did usually.

Drawings

Her birthmark just touched the lower tip of her left shoulderblade. It embarassed her. All summer she used to cover it with a credit card-size band-aid. Beneath each band-aid lies a wound. And behind each wound lies an injury. And one who survives an injury is strong she thought, and searched for the skin-coloured top that would so elegantly match the band-aid.

That she goes and comes, like a cat. He watched her leave, vaguely realizing he had missed something important. She had cut her toenails, they lay on the night table.

As soon as he had entered the house, he spoke in whispers. He did not like to talk anyway. Father used to say, the walls have ears. That was thirtytwo years ago, he was seven.

His hand rested on the softness of the dough. When he felt its touch, it was already too late. Since then he used to fold his thumb into his palm.