auteur: Igor Dobricic

A text in response to our work on The exact position of things.

for Hester and Esther

They are clinging to what they are used to as if there is nothing else to preserve them but the habit of the days. They are repeating what they know as if there is nothing else to be known but what they can copy from each other. And yet they are loosing it. Between each repetition something is lost and every time the cycle starts again there is less and less to cling on. As if there is a hole in the fabric of time through which meaning slowly trickles out.

And with a disappearance of meaning the stage is getting darker and darker.

On the inside of the inside it is all a book. Desperate mnemonic device created in an attempt to make sense of forgetfulness. Carefully sorted catalogue of photographic images. I can see N. whispering to herself: where? every time she would press the button of the camera – there: in passageways, under street lamps, in front of market stands, inside empty rooms. In the shadow of their (own?) motionless bodies, slightly inclined, with the horizontal bar of neon light floating behind. Two young women, similar and yet different like a left and right side of the same face (of an old women, lost). Talking to each other as if she was talking to herself. And more. Three red chairs and the carpet, actually a Turkish Kelim belonging to N’s mother, the only (brightly) colored (soft) surface under the (pale) light on a (dark) stage.
In the shadow of their bodies, inclined, with a neon light behind and a microphone above, here they are, and yet we can hardly see them. Darkness is powdery and soft like a coal dust. the exact position of things is more a texture of disappearances, a pattern of repetitions, than a place. You have to feel it under your fingers. On your tongue.


The power of (sensory) deprivation is that it brings us in touch with the plasticity of our mind. What we cannot look at we can still see by listening or smelling or touching it. Furthermore, it forces us to consider the positive aspect of what is absent. Our experience is enhanced by the deficiency if we decide not to mourn a lack as impossibility. Because lack IS possibility. And possibility becomes reality in an unpredictable way. All of a sudden as in a revelation we see the smell. Or we touch the flesh with our eye.

So, the question is: what exactly is being revealed to us when the things stop repeating themselves and we get deprived of our ability to remember? Can we, in a mute stillness of a present moment listen to all our lost memories? And by listening to them, can we see them? And by seeing them, can we touch them? And what are we touching in the darkness? What kind of music do we listen to? Where are we exactly?

There, in the shadow of our own body.