Press Release:

https://files.cargocollective.com/c1766513/exhibition_text.pdf

Text:

I brush up against

buildings,

touch them

to see if they

still hold their weight.

The scent of a city

Those buildings

people,

the weather,

this order of things.

It’s raining.

It has been for days.

A screen dull and grey,

It’s been over a month now

not one memory of a dream

The sidewalk’s bustling.

Umbrellas collide,

cling on to each other,

while some wait

for the worst to pass.

I live in them, partly. 

They live in me. 

Street vendors wrap up

their makeshift cardboard stalls

as it starts pouring

an amount of water

the street drain cannot gulp all at once.

I think about the mouse

the other day 

in my apartment

I mean the too-expensive apartment

of that thief of a landlord.

The fine separation

between street and sidewalk blurs

as the gutters flood. 

There’s probably more than one

gnawing at the fillings of those walls

I thought about it.

I could live with mice

if it wasn’t for their rapid movements

their unpredictability 

I mean, it just freaks me out

their ability to squeeze

into the smallest cracks.

They’re everywhere.

The caretaker thinks I’m crazy,

because I won’t stop complaining.

I’m thirsty.

I cross the river.

Old buildings,

a history

almost no one remembers,

or refuses to.

I watch

a solid stream of water

pouring out

a gargoyle’s gaping mouth.

I taste the water,

its pressurized stream deforming my mouth,

exposing my gums.

Text by: Nicholas Goudket, Martin Heynen, Martha Kotsia