Double
Reflex-fabric, aluminium
Ciphers and Cues
Glas, aluminium, laser transfer print, photogram of a moth's eye, photogram of moth’s take-off flight on laptop screen printed on aluminium
Take off
Photogram of moth’s take-off on laptop screen printed on aluminium,inkjet print on film, aluminium.
Makeup
Aluminium, steel, ‘Electric Blue’ eyeshadow, binder, acrylic glas, reflex fabric
Prop
Aluminium
Dia-Fossil
Inkjet print on film, glas
Tear drinking
Inkjet print, glas
Dry Hair
Aluminium, steel, wires, paint
Crescent Hair
Aluminium, plaster
Exhibition text
The eye is cast out from the surface of the Earth, orbiting briefly through the atmosphere before tears descend like light rain onto the angled screen of the telescope. They fall through layers of historical markers and bodily cross-sections. Fragile—like a butterfly’s wing—the eyelid holds the eyeball close to death. Dying: that inevitable return to the sheath that held us before we first propelled outward. Kicking, pushing back against the innermost wall of the womb, screaming. Into the silence that preceded the first day of this century, or perhaps the last century’s first.
We remain at a threshold: the mutable tipping point of modernism. A fractured rod of fibrous threads arcs across the years, stretching toward the ever-passing—day into night. Across the globe, a ribbon of satellites drifts, guided by an invisible hand. They seduce a swarm of airborne creatures in search of order and direct connection. Fibers in wings, air between extended antennae.
The angle you choose determines the outcome: human and machine—torn apart and bound together again—engaged in a process that pulls the world into a dizzying reverse spin. Propeller, lift me, grant me air beneath these dry wings! Offer me perspective on this unfolding disintegration. Falling. The past. Frightful, frictionless links are keeping me fettered. In the cave beneath the Acropolis, the first drawing of the ruin’s resurrection lies at rest. Sculptures, dress yourselves. It is time to show your best side (from behind, and stripped of color). In the pale morning light, the last fly twitches on the window ledge. Who led you astray, behind the light and into the narrow space between panes of glass?
The inside is now outside, and the reflection mirrors itself in the Moon’s dusty surface. A rounded double is hanging heavy over an erased blue horizon. From the sea she rises carried by a wave that never breaks. Her hand shielding her face (too see and to be seen—a blinding equation). She steps down from the podium, back to the shoreline and the cliff above. Layers of shells, densely compressed, cut with unnerving precision then carried and stacked to form the very stage. Silence. Action—the drama continues still.
-Julia Sjölin
On Distance and other Signs I&II
Hd-video 8 min
Sím exhibition space, Reykjavik
'On distance and other Signs I & II origin from the separation between the European and North American tectonic plates, and similarities in the landscape between Iceland and Mars. From these locations, the emergence of melancholy, the possibility of life on Mars, continental drift, separation, distance, and longing are explored.
Sömndagboken (The Sleep Journal)
2024
2-channel videoinstallation, HD-video, 42 min
The project is a collaboration between the visual artists Karin Lindstén and Nadja Ericsson.
The video installation The Sleep Journal was screened with live electronics by composer and musician Ola Bergman, at Inter Arts Center, Malmö.
https://iac.lu.se/events/somndagboken-the-sleep-journal/
“Some images: dust, weariness, stones floating to the surface. I couldn’t sleep, so I went down to the birds. It was then that I realized: I was living in the double. Two moons become two eyelids that close. I don’t have much left to say. The stains suddenly turned into swans on dark water. I’ll never forget that. I still had a milk tooth left well into my teenage years. What else has happened? I wanted to tell you about the house, but I can’t remember the proportions. I wanted to tell you about the siblings, but I’ve read too many fairytales. Swan by day, human only by night. Eyes blurry with cataracts, pupils tear-shaped. I wanted to clean here, but the vacuum cleaner was broken.”
Tiergarten at Dusk
2022
hd video, 7.30 min
projected on aluminium
A chroma key blue screen is placed by a river. A flashlight searches over the bushes, and insects follow the light. When the screen is illuminated, it is keyed out, and an animation of shadows is contrasted against a video of nocturnal moths around an light bulb.
Den ljusaste natten (The brightest night)
2023
16 mm film, 4 minute loop
