Stay #7
The second time I walked into this space I was struck by the way it had changed. The room where Maxime had put up her work was almost completely empty, and the other room was filled with Vladimir's and Maxime's contributions. 
As I mostly worked in the smaller room the last time and it reminded me mostly of working with the loss of Tim, I decided to focus on the bigger empty space. 









I got inspired by a text by Vinciane Despret on the perceived lack of autonomy of non-human animals. Specifically in the way we study them, but I would argue it extends towards the way we treat them in our everyday lives. 


Marrie had been with me the entire time during this project, Marrie gets stripped of her agency every day by people questioning her autonomy. She is just this little creature following me around wherever I go, not a single thought in her pretty little head.

What a contrast in comparison to me, an autonomous artist. Separated from the rest of the world in my studio, closer to god than to other human people. Where I can create my next masterpiece in a stroke of genius. 

Of course, both these scenarios aren't based on reality, my life revolves more around Marrie then Marrie's life around me. And I've never met an artist that actually works like this (even though some might look like they do). 












I feel like these notions on how artist and animals relate to their autonomy are linked somehow. Maybe it all boils down to capitalism (as it usually does) maybe it just made sense in this space. 

Your environment influences you no matter what, therefore, making work in the same space without communicating with each other is still collaborating. Can I call any of the works I made in this space mine?  What does it mean to be autonomous? Why is there such a need to render the artist autonomous and the non-human animal dependent and captive? Is there a connection?  

We call our pets ''mine'' just as we call our work ''mine'', what would happen if we let go of that? Adopt an anarchist mindset towards art, animals and autonomy.  

This thought is familiar to me. I feel very uncomfortable    speaking bout "my" art as if every part of it comes from me. I've since argued against this idea of the human maker as sole maker of the work in a paper, and through writing it become keenly aware that in the materials and subject matter I choose I tend to include things where something will fight back against my intentions somehow, and help me navigate the work.      >

I noticed how raw and expressive your works felt in the spaces when I was there. Leading up to this residency, I mostly heard you speak about your work in our zoommeetings. While you were speaking, you appeared to be very theory- and research-based, so I was suprised that, for me at least, feelings dominated thoughts when I experienced your work in real life.