Lepopisana

“ “ … But you know that's not . . . not in my line, ” said Vronsky in English.” I can picture him saying that … Count Alexei Kirillovich Vronsky … Reclining lazily on a sofa (which he didn’t do), waving his hand in dusky air, holding a glass of red wine (which he again didn’t do), his voice becoming hazy. I can say the same about this paining … not in my line. But I did it anyway and I sort of like it, although I’m not entering a realm of circles hovering in eternity. I’ll stick to words …  

na peno valov na mivko morskega dna na potopljene ladje pišem tvoje ime What is it that makes us alive? Is it a person, a thing or … freedom, like in Paul Éluard's poem which »recipe« I used? I write your name … I'll leave it open …   Sposodila sem si »recept« Svobode Paula Éluarda. Pišem tvoje ime … Puščam odprto … naj si vsak dopiše tisto, kar mu poganja kri po žilah.

I have always been fascinated by repeated patterns like the ones on wallpaper or textiles. I remember an old man who came to paint the walls of my grandmother's house. I was eight or nine years old and I remember watching him in fascination as he prepared to work. He painted the outline of each wall by hand. The only help was a thin rope coated in pigment, which he tautened with his fingers and then let go quickly, so it left a mark on the wall. After the outlines were done, he used pattern rollers to create what I saw as magic. He worked in silence, pretending not to see me, although he was well aware of someone watching him. As he left, he winked at me. In this piece I combined nostalgia of repeated patterns with that of wood. I like the smell of wood … when I sand it and later work directly on wood. I deliberately chose not to prime it with gesso, so the texture of wood is seen through.     Od nekdaj so mi bili všeč ponavljajoči se vzorci na tapetah in tkaninah.

Towers of letters … words … invisible, but then again … who knows … I remember an old film I watched when I was little. I don't remember its title, or what it was about. Just one scene: people talking. It was in black and white, no sound, just people opening and closing their mouths. They were closer and closer while the scene became whiter and whiter until it faded into whiteness, emptiness, nothingness …   Stolpi črk … besed … nevidnih pa vendar … kdo ve … Spominjam se filma, ki sem ga gledala, ko sem bila majhna. Bil če črno bel, ne spominjam se niti naslova, niti vsebine. Edini prizor, ki mi je ostal v spominu, je soba - ali je bila jedilnica - polna ljudi, ki so se med seboj pogovarjali. Zvoka ni bilo, samo slika. Ljudje so odpirali in zapirali usta. Kamera se je približevala, hkrati pa je slika bledela, dokler ni izginila v belino, praznino, nič …