Last year I walked through someone’s dream. An artist had set up an installation of rooms he had seen in his dream. I had to remove my shoes to walk through. The rooms were small and bending. All things were covered in silicone: the wallpaper, the floor, the cabbage, the stone and the antelope. Only the roots of a tree simply consisted of silicone, a hollow tube reproducing the pattern of the bark.
In addition, philosophers and authors had written texts with their thoughts on the installation and dreaming in general. I liked some of them so much that I took pictures of them. But up to today I have not re-read them, neither looked for the writers on the internet. Even if I had, what would I have gained from it? More information, more input. More truth?
Unfortunately I keep spending most of my time on the computer, reading and entertaining myself with pixels and reports from the airwaves until I become square-eyed. I felt the same way as a movie character in a certain science fiction series. While everybody was surrounding themselves with fake stuff, paying fake money to get something that is not even tangible in that virtual world, he was craving for something real and true like an apple, like real people.
A friend of mine told me about her journey through South America. There she met a man with a tattoo of a zombie under water, heading towards the surface. We are all under water and we do not know any different, he explained. When we look up, we only see the mirror of the surface and we believe, beyond it there is nothing. But this zombie is on its way up, and if it dares to break through the surface, there will still be the sky.
Sometimes I feel like my own prisoner. Tangled in the net of socially constructed norms and institutions. Entertained by unreal pictures composed of ones and zeroes. Collecting clutter that will add to a meaningless pile. Adding content to a box that is already overflowing. There cannot be anything unique, anything new anymore because everything has already been there before.
Even the idea of escaping all that, finding an exit by going into the forest, into solitude, by traveling, by focusing on nature, is a part of that prison. The concept of the pure and true nature is incorporated into the system. It is like being allowed to go outside to the yard and get some fresh air. Still the idea exists within the prison’s walls and fences.
This makes me urge to create something pure, immaculate, defoliated, skinned. I can try but I know I will fail. Everything springs from something else, everything is already categorized and constructed by humanity itself. And as I keep producing content, I am not closer to the truth at all.
I have no solution for that, so this will remain a rather depressing post. Maybe this year, I can try hard and at least get a little bit closer to truth.