Visual sound installations and narration of intimate stories about a man, a woman and a child.

 

 

"I regularly ask myself the following question :

How pleasant it would be if we could put our heads in a tree once in a while, if we could whisper our secrets there, if that tree gave us answers, if we could find a place to philosophize there?

And what would it mean if that were the most normal thing in the world?" - Kurt Demey -

 

 

Stick your head in a tree

something you do on a Sunday

a peaceful Sunday

reflect on yourself

casual

 

The tree gives you insights

shows you images

asks you questions

keeps a secret

 

He gives you peace

the peace that you need

 

Speaking to a tree

is talking to yourself

against your deepest self

your most honest self

Texts

 

 

Man

 

I have another little secret I want to tell you.

It's not exactly small, and it's not exactly mine.

But I can't tell anyone. Only to myself, then.

My best friend told me his secret... and now it's my secret, too.

Annoying, having secrets that aren't even your own. It's like a gift you have to keep without knowing what's inside. That feeling.

If it's a nice secret, for example that he's going to be a father, then that secret feels good. Like a warm brooding ball under your ribs. Every now and then it spits its glow into your veins so that you get jitters all over your body. Excited you are then. You're pregnant with it.

You can't tell anyone... and that secret lives in your body like an animal nesting in your belly. It keeps you busy.

Funny, because his secret becomes your secret too.

Would he actually be happy to become a father? And can I assume that his wife will become a mother?

 

Doesn't matter. I wish that was the secret. His secret's about something else. It's not a warm secret. Not a secret that makes you feel full. It's one of those secrets that sucks you dry, drinks the warm blood from your veins. It makes you pale. It makes you feel cold and empty when it settles under your brain for a moment. Like a creeping thought it sits there in your head. You can't get rid of it. You can only tell yourself. It's a secret.

 

My friend is sick. Maybe incurable. He still has to undergo some tests. Until then, no one must worry. Nobody must know but me.

Why? Because I'm his friend. Because I'm his friend.

 

I can do nothing for him. Just keep his secret.

But am I doing this right? Could there be another reason why he only talked to me? Is there anything else I can do for him?

Hopefully it's not as bad as we think. We should wait.

Waiting with a vicious beast in our belly that gnaws. Anyone who sees it gets bitten. A poisonous bite... cold blood...

That's why we keep it quiet.

Quiet! Quiet!

Quiet! Quiet!

Quiet as a mouse.

 

No sound

just the buzzing in my head.

A constant buzzing

It's maddening.

 

 

Woman

 

Tuesday morning I was at the market, buying olives.

I don't know what to think, but... there was a strange vibe between me and that olive vendor.

When we looked at each other, it seemed like we knew each other, like we had stories to tell about each other.

He gave me an olive to taste, looked at me tightly, placed the green olive against his mouth and sucked it in. A drop of oil remained glistening on his lips. With the tip of his tongue he rolled it in his mouth.

Dimples appeared in his cheeks.

Smiling, he gave me another olive, pressed it to my mouth. I sucked them in, curled my lips as if I were painting them, and smiled back with a glistening mouth.

This image has been in my head for a week.

What should I do with it?

Will I see him again? I'd rather not.

Do I tell my husband? I'd rather not.

He can never catch the moment.

My friends will see things that aren't there.

I keep it as a little secret, a movie, a moment to myself.

 

You know, I love my husband.

But, is he the one I've been waiting for?

No, he has become one.

Is he my desire, my dream?

He is my reality. He is the reality I long for and dream of.

It's grown that way, we've built it.

On the one hand it is magical, on the other hand it is as normal as a roof over our heads.

I couldn't imagine life without him. A life without him would be a different one.

 

Only in my dreams do my fantasies run away with me.

Last night I fell asleep on the bench in the garden. The dying sun on my face.

I stood naked on the bank of the canal. My head upwards. Taking in the warmth of the sun. Grey clouds piled up before me. Crickets sang cheerfully. A light wind rose, caressed my body.

I stood stock-still, face upwards. In the distance, clouds crackled with heavy thunder. The light grew darker, I kept my eyes closed.

The wind embraced my body, caressed me, played with me. Harder and harder, more and more intense.

Thor, the god of thunder, played me.

My hair was blowing back. Gusts of wind.

The first raindrop teasingly touched my body, tickling. But not for long. Soon the precipitation was pouring down.

I was massaged.

When I opened my eyes, I was lying on the ground.

 

Yeah, I saw him again;

Shapes, movements I hadn't forgotten.

Coincidence,

No. I don't think so.

Like a ghost moving through the square.

Not until I saw his smile

I was sure it was him.

We had a drink.

No, I didn't look into his eyes.

Not again.

 

It feels like I've been longing for something for years, which is finally coming through. It feels like I never had the space. I found the way. Young, full of fears. But still confident. I have set out into a world that until recently only existed inside.

 

His words felt soft

but were filled with a poison

who turned my dreams into lies.

Lies that germinated easily in my mind.

 

Is beauty a gift?

No,

an anesthetic, I think.

 

 

Little boy

 

Actually, I'm very happy today. And you know why? Because today was a quiet day. We didn't tease any girls.

 

A new girl has arrived. Her name is Magali. I like them.

 

I'll tell you something else. As always everyone was doing their own thing today. Suddenly Pieter shouted: "Look, there's a little bird over there". Everyone stood in a circle. Magali was there too. That bird could not fly because it was a young bird. Roel tried to take the bird and put it on the grass. Everyone ran after it. Roel and Pieter said that everyone had to leave and that they should leave the bird alone.

The little bird wiggled quietly away.

 

You know what else was fun? A few days ago, we went to the market. There was a stall with real catapults. Pieter and I got one from mom. Now we can shoot wads of stuff at cans. We also got free olives at the olive stall.

Really nice.

 

Pieter has a dog called Geisha. Nice name. We threw a long stick in the water and yes Geisha took it out.

I hope we get to walk the dog a lot.

 

Pieter and I, we have been wondering about certain things today.

For example, if I say; this is green and Pieter says the same, does he really see green or does he see red and call it green because that's how he was taught and because he always called it green. Do you understand?

Do we all see the same colors or do we see different colors but give them names so we still think we see the same thing.

Because I think it's possible that Pieter sees something completely different and we still say the same thing.

 

We were also talking about molecules.

Atoms flying around a nucleus, like planets around the sun.

We wondered if there are not beings living on atoms that we can not see because they are so small. Because atoms look like planets under the microscope, we think.

And maybe the earth also is an atom, but then a very big one, and the sun is our core. Maybe our solar system is a small piece of, for example, a giant tooth brush.

And if the greatest is equal to the smallest, then it never stops. Then it's infinite, Dad says.

 

Pieter and I went to investigate. That was really cool.

We asked many people. Everyone thought we were asking difficult questions. Only Ben liked it. He said we'd make good philosophers.

He also asked us a difficult question.

He asked if we can only be or only become.

We didn't quite understand that question. But Pieter and I think you can do both. You can be a pilot and you can become a pilot.

 

But what happens when you die? Does it stop or what?

You can no longer be or become a pilot.

Then you're dead and you become an angel.

 

I hope I see Magali tomorrow. I can ask her then. I don't think she thinks it's a stupid question.

 

Tomorrow I can bring some friends home. I'm organising a party. My friends have already received a homemade invitation from me.

We can bring soda pop and chips to the playroom and play music. That'll be cool. Maybe we'll dance to the music.

Annie the cleaning lady is here today. That's good because then everything will be clean when my friends come. I think I'll show them my bedroom too.