Sealogues – writings from the Vadsø residency, Norway


5.12.-16.12.2018 Vadsø, Norway Fumbling

What do you see, when you see something or someone the very first time?

A form, outline, a few main colors of the scene? Outer covering
a tough outer protective layer
of an animal or a plant

or something inanimate

Surface that holds that covers, shelters all unknown, the most beautiful things, darkest spots, confusing little details. The mural, armor, the masks and some fancy glittering materials on top of all unexplainable.


I find myself touching the rock surface again and again, its salty coat and icy wrinkles. It looks at me in a way it knows everything and decided thousand years ago to just sit, stand or lye down and do nothing in its perfection. Just letting the wave move back and forth thousands of years on top of its surface. Until it is grind into sand.


I am absolutely adored.
Looking at their dialogue, their movement. And these dancers don’t really care that I am

I become aware of my urge to touch – when there are no words, no other language between us. Whetter staring at the eyes of a person, an animal, an insect.
Or believing seeing eyes on the surface of the rock, surface of the water, the tree…
All of them look back at me


I wish
I hear them talking, singing, murmuring, whispering, flying, shrilling, barking, meowing, crushing, clattering, clashing towards each other
I am simply an eavesdropper here

I lay my head, my ear against the bark of a tree. Imagining billion little feet crawling, thousands of liters of liquids running, pulses traveling.

And you all just sit there with no hurry
Looking at me, looking at the horizon, mountain, lake, sea, the stars. I sit, stay there – staring back. You all make me

Notice abandoned things, broken plastic bucket, chain of beautifully moving bags frozen to the ground, bits and pieces of wood, something flying in the wind. Memories of yesterdays ships and fishing nets.
Fires on the sea, lost shoes and loves.


You all make me want to touch everything Hold it

Carry it home to remember. Or to understand something that happens inside myself, under the surface of myself.

Looking at the stones on beach, with all their marks and scars. I play with the idea, to push and scratch the surface until the first layer of my skin is pierced, removed or changed.

Moving my face in front of the mirror, until its all wrinkled.
Sit on the bark of the tree until its surface is printed on my skin.

…the covering, or integument, of the body’s surface that both provides protection and receives sensory stimuli from the external environment…

I truly hope it could be called as a dialogue! But the problem is, I am just selecting where and when I want to tune in. You just sit there moving through geological timelines. Am I changing because of you? Are your movements changing because of me? Are we together in this?

I hope to understand your ways of communicating. Id rather be a stone.

I remember dropping something on the water surface. It floats, it travels across and makes its way until the very last corner of the container. It floats and disappears to the open landscape. It floats until I forget it and turn my back. It sinks and dives across the universe deep down.

My little piece of folded paper did it, reached the depths. Without me even noticing.

Meanwhile, I am lost in words. Lost in look a likes, lost to the hard, dusty, cold, slimy, never-ending sur- faces. Thinking about fundamental questions, important paperwork, sitting in front of my computer. Sitting in front of people. All that is significant here in the broken world. We try to fix everything, all the time. Re- fusing to die or at least refusing to remember that it will happen.

no I suddenly remember the piece, little folded paper that once went across the sea, to the unknown land. I remember my fingers touching that paper, I remember the blueberry stain perpetuating my fingers. Where is that paper now ? Was it that I wrote something important there? Just a few words, that I wanted to remem- ber – always and right now. But stand up without saying anything. I go out to look for the paper.

I know is somewhere.
Now I know I did not write anything to it. It was just that I collected it, touch it thousand times, kept it in my pocket when I met you, I was holding it when someone died. I did all my big journeys keeping it in between my changing notebooks.

Then I decided it has to become free. I folded a little horse. That knows how to walk on top of the water surface, I and watched its careful pace, then trotting further. Looking back at me with a huge paper horse smile. Carrying all what I ever experienced carrying my lost words, my love and hate and starting to gallop, across the endless water surface across the waves. Following some currents, going where there are enough deep waters to sink.

To dive and suck all the water that it could hold.

There is a magnificent universe under there. I have heard I am on top of the water in kayak
Looking at slowly moving algae,
Floating little seeds

See through Waves
inside the world that is inside the sea, and inside the algae there is another world under the surface

You could travel endlessly, see nothing and experience everything. Breathing

I close my eyes to open my sight

Push my hands through something and touch. The skin interfaces with the environment and is the first line of defense from external factors.

What is external from what is me? Where is my bodily periphery?

For a moment, it all is very scary. And I fight against Stay at the sur- face. Explain to myself how I

the will to hold back.
don’t need this

insulation, temperature regulation, sensation, and the production of vitamin D folates



That what touches the surface probably reaches something in depths too

There wont be any better moments to dive. Perhaps you cant do it later anymore.
You simply forget
You get too afraid.


You loose your other senses.

Or someone tells you that you already did it. And you believe it, like a fool.

I go out every morning and look at the bed before leaving the room. It was warm and safe. What is calling me

Hear the sound and you cant resist anymore.

Stepping across the beach Stepping in to the sea

It is always cold.
Or thats how we call that feeling, notion, temperature, its being

It still carries me and nourishes

I know Im in good hands, that never need me.

These hands simply set me free They let me go

They make my skin burn from all the coldness And I am not afraid anymore

Even if you look at me back
with your calm eyes
Cool movement
Cute little stir of your algae
Rocks that seem like holes in the landscape Your strong smell

With all that beauty you remind me you don’t really need me would it be better without?
Or does it even matter in the end

You were quite alright for billions of years


That the beasts in you womb are much easier to handle and take care of Than us

I beg you I could become one of those beasts

But you call me only when its morning and need to wake up
Stand and walk with my two feet
And stay on your lap for just a very short moment not to suffocate, not to freeze

That is our dialogue for so many summers

I am left feeling inhuman
But definitely not part of something else than people

Its just that something comes to prominence Please do understand I was born here!!
Also me once I knew how to breathe under water

The pleura. The same kind of thin tissue lines the inside of the chest cavity — also called pleura. A thin layer of fluid acts as a lubricant allowing the lungs to slip smoothly as they expand and contract with each breath.

Cant stop thinking about you
What is the type of creature that can’t breathe in the water neither on land? A humanoid?
An alien?

I go and make things
I draw a picture of you
Then just a trace that reminds me of you entering my piece of paper

I go back again Being human

But secretly thinking how it would be like

To be one of the giant fishes Underwater beast

The most beautiful giant female

Swimming under your surface For eternity

Making no harm


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