I don’t know where this is going but it seemed to make sense. It was something I had been thinking about of and on. I don’t know what triggered it. It might have had something to do with the astronomical calendar I found on my desk the other day or with the general theme of absence I found recurring in my working process last summer. I thought about lost objects before, I’ve been writing about it, I even thought about putting a list of lost objects in the Sky Lounge because I thought it would be the proper place for such a list.
Today I was up on the Elsewhere roof. It is white and shiny, I like to sit there early in the morning when the sun is up but the moon is still visible or around six when the sun starts to set. I had been thinking about shooting a video up there but I wasn’t sure where to start.
Today one plus one became three. I wrote my list of lost objects on the roof.
It wasn’t that easy. I couldn’t remember that many things I had lost during my life. I’m sure there are many but apparently most of them weren’t as important as I thought they were at the moment I lost them.
What is in the list? You can see for yourself. South Elm Street 608, walk up to the second floor, step through the window, climb the stairs and the wobly ladder. Make sure you don’t fall. Too many things got lost already.
It is only a start. The list is still short. I have to decide on what to put in and what not. Do people fit in? Is it anything you can say you’ve lost? How about teeth and weight and your patience? How about faith? Maybe it should only be objects.
I like to think of the list being out there at night, confronted by the stars and the eternity of the universe.
It isn’t necessarily my list only. You can add things if you want. By yourselve or through me. Let me know what you’ve lost during your life and I’ll add it to the list.
The objects on the third floor are restless. They wake me up at night. I don’t know what they want. I don’t know how to figure it out. They’re objects. They can’t speak. I can ask them but they won’t answer.
It doesn’t bother me too much. I stare out of the window for a bit and think about what I’m doing here. I listen to the sounds. The wind is stronger than it was yesterday. I fall asleep again. I hear sirens. I dream about a fire. When the morning light wakes me up I notice my watch stopped at 3.25. What happened? Nothing happened.
I didn’t write a lot since I arrived here. My struggle with the objects has consumed all my time. I’ve ignored the words. They probably deserve better but I don’t know if I can trust them.
Being here makes me feel like my world can fall apart any moment. It is a comforting feeling. In one of his articles the Dutch philosopher Fons Elders (and as I wrote before, “elders” is the Dutch word for “elsewhere”) says: “A human being is almost nothing”.
Almost nothing. What is it that keeps us from being nothing? What are we? I don’t dare to answer this question. I’m only trying to be here. It isn’t easy. But I practise a lot. You’ve probably seen my videos. I’m trying to come up with a new exercise. I’m not there yet. And at the same time I am.
What will happen when I stop exercising?
I think this video is related to an earlier one, you might have seen it on this blog already or if not you can find it here
