1980 Köyliö
Art is a journey onto the roof and back down
One night I climbed onto the roof of a seven-storey building. I gazed at the sky, but could not see anything because of the light pollution. When I tried to enter the staircase to get out from the rooftop, I accidentally set out the fire alarm. An audio work penetrated the darkness. When I got out into the street, I blamed others for the noise. Bloody vandals.
I took the bed linen from my hotel room – originally white – now a wrinkled shroud stained by sweat. If I start to cry, I will wipe my tears with it. If I wet myself, I will use it to mop the floor. If someone tries to drop a bomb on me, I will use it like a white flag, waving it around, even if I have no intention of surrendering. If none of this happens, I will hang it up on the wall and project a video image of a woman whom I saw in the street onto it. I did not say anything to her – which is just as well – because many people turn out to be complete bastards once you get to know them.
I opened my suitcase and found a film spool, which I was supposed to have developed years ago. Almost every picture had been destroyed by the airport x-ray scanners. I think I recognized the face of a friend of mine, who has been dead for a long time, in a few frames. I might show his picture in the exhibition. On the other hand, I am not sure if it really is him.
I have also made some drawings, but I will not show them to anyone.
Well, I will show one of them. It is a picture of a prison island, which floats in the ocean like a nutshell and symbolically includes, of course, the society. I scraped the landscape on a receipt with a coin. The work is for sale only for museums and well-established institutions if by selling it I am able promote my status as an artist. Otherwise, I will give it to my friend as a gift, so that she can hang it on her wall and be happy. She can also throw it away when she needs to move from one rental apartment to another.
