Everyday that I spend inside this place, is another day of discovery.
Old pages of german books found in the ashes of one of the old stoves,
A notebook from 1955 used by my great uncle for school.
Papers on the protocol minority groups must follow after displacement
in Poland following WWII. Money and jewelry under floor boards, hidden in the sand.
From the few rooms that I've removed floor boards and plaster covered walls,
more portals were found within rooms. Marking continuous events in additions to the house.
In total, I think there were 4 major additions to the house alone.
... it is like this everyday, a continuous build up of something distinct
yet inexplicable in words.
This intense condition that exists inside the house and makes a
human feel like the lives that once occupied this house are tearing through
the walls and trying to unfurl their story.
... and it arrives deep inside your skin, as if gnawing it's way into you.
As much as I wanted to arrive at the intended form of a wall that provided
the gesture of mutation but also function... I found myself lusting
over the process of removal of the skin (pantyhose) and leaving
this portion of the body in a state of partial removal.
Being able to freeze this moment of removal was watching this
crazy internal struggle that I feel not only exists in this house but
also a social condition of the people in the region...
and it keeps me returning to the history of displacement.
In between the supple curves of the casted body and the tearing away of the skin
was an immense territory, a territory that was awaiting to be discovered...
a habitual condition of a physical region struggling to arrive
at it's proper formation yet professing a deep internal
struggle rooted in something other.
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