I never cry for art.
All I can cry for are beginnings and endings.
That is where my thoughts go.
Again and again.
To that place, that moment where everything begins and ends.
Birth and death.
Life fading in and out.
The beginnings and endings of love stories.
The end of my mother.
The language, there on the beach, in French: that is the language of my mother.
And I think.
C’est fort beau.
By way of introduction: a text for THE JOINT
Fort Beau. Chapter 1: The End
Lecture performance for Performatik 19
Niet perfect perfect
in gesprek met Jan Ritsema
Wat je niet kan dwingen
in gesprek met Manon de Boer
a conversation with Sirah Foighel Brutmann & Eitan Efrat
Before and After. The Art of the Non-Event
a talk for the Third RITCS Arts & Politics Symposium
Blank Is Beautiful
a conversation in the classroom of Fashion Matters