Straight from a butterfly‘s wing, a shimmering scale just landed on my naked
skin. My reflection on its surface fades almost instantly into rushing images.
Landscapes form and dissolve again until the image of a forest solidifies.
First moving above the treetops, the scene now enters deeper and deeper
into the dense web of twigs and branches. Wooden claws reach out, trying to
scratch my skin. Finally they succeed. Blood drips onto the ground, tearing
open the wounds of the past. The dead wood lying on the forest floor, now
stained red, whispers as it decays of possible spreads of species yet to come.
Humming voices emerge from within the broken off branches. At the same
time, long, shimmering silvery bodies, which are neither snakes nor lizards,
appear slowly winding their way along the deadwood‘s arms. The illusion of
the natural is vanishing in the image of the squirming blindworms, singing
a song of their cultural adaptation: „Stones, holes in the ground, tree roots,
stacks of firewood, moss cushions, lying wood, plastic foil or sheet metal,
compost and piles of leaves, rock crevices.
Have you realized how artificial everything has become ever since the giant
gardeners of the world have been hunted down?
Take your head out of the clouds and don‘t mess with the weather, they used
to say. Because these adorable cottony creatures can easily turn into roaring
thunderstorms if you don‘t treat them kindly.
By the way, have you noticed the stunning wild roses growing at the front
door? They keep a secret. Follow the chatter of their thorns and you might
learn that blindworms are anything but sightless.“
Vom Leben in schillernden Wäldern, Text zur Installation, 2022
