the feeling of wearyness, haggardness is overwhelming. I dont want to tell the same things over and over again. ıt is the end where the research-practice on that specific topic starts to become an old chestnut, that it cannot push.
we spoke around two tea plates filled with flat and white tea.
it becomes like a conversation piece, where I drag someone into the work and develop a chat on-around it.
at the moment I so dont want to be typing.-ı even dont have the self-discipline to flos daily-
lets at least note down the floating keywords in my mind
story
process
body
documenting
as an atlas
or a map
(a travelogue, journal, or guide)
a title, a text, something to anchor, or start from to see the works
why potato, why plugs imprinted,
how they all relate to each other
illusion of the setting to look like the landscape
delicate-thin connections
the materiality of the maps on the wall
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