Anna Sjöström

1985, The Painting Department Malerskolen




We fold them out.

They are so difficult to see, they are melting together with the background as we hold them up towards the light.

Still they can see us.

We bathe them, drown them almost. Try to keep them down but they surface. We want to clean them, reshape their every thread spun.

We haul them up; they are so heavy now, clinging to our bodies – becoming our clothes. Wrapping themselves around us like corsets. The water is cold when it reaches our skin.

They fall off, landing in messy piles at our feet. We collect them. Hang them up to dry. They turn stiff and solid. Visible again. In places there are brown circles, traces from the pools where the dirty water vanished last.

We hold them up against the light again. They are more opaque now, blocking out everything behind them. Except for where the holes are, they have become tiny little openings to peak through.

Whatever was, unmatters.

Installation view afgang 2015: