Re - Construction / video / mini DV transfered to hdv / color / 5:27 min / 2009 
Reconstruction of moment, of event that is still happening, somewhere… Landscape
pulsing in metaphysical tension. Changed contexts. Memory. An abandoned sofa. A
stroll on the rocks. Deconstruction. We can hear a bell… A shepherd and the sofa. A
piece of house furniture from the seventies. People resting. The sofa is pulsing in the
nature. It has become a part of it. It has come alive. It lives its own life. And we
cannot rest. We are tired. We are always tired, sleepy. We are people from the cities.
We are bored. Politics. Bicycle. Exhaust pipe. Copenhagen. We were fenced a long
time ago. We still build fences, taller and taller… we cannot escape and we have
nowhere to escape. The chimney of a heating station. People resting. The only place
we can run to is the place presented by the sofa. That place has no name and the sofa
has no name. And yet, it has its identity. The identity of space and object without a
name. Strips and stitches were detached. Time and longevity changed its appearance,
but not its function. It is not what it wants to be. It is still what we want it to be,
nothing more. Our polygon for questioning our personal mistakes, decisions,
traumas… It is good that it exists. It will exist for a while until it becomes a story.
And the story is there to be told. Vagueness. This is not a story; this is a memory, a
moment. Intimacy of an out-of-civilization event… Only a moment and nothing
more, a moment that lasted as long as this text and a picture…
Reconstruction of moment, of event that is still happening, somewhere… Landscape
pulsing in metaphysical tension. Changed contexts. Memory. An abandoned sofa. A
stroll on the rocks. Deconstruction. We can hear a bell… A shepherd and the sofa. A
piece of house furniture from the seventies. People resting. The sofa is pulsing in the
nature. It has become a part of it. It has come alive. It lives its own life. And we
cannot rest. We are tired. We are always tired, sleepy. We are people from the cities.
We are bored. Politics. Bicycle. Exhaust pipe. Copenhagen. We were fenced a long
time ago. We still build fences, taller and taller… we cannot escape and we have
nowhere to escape. The chimney of a heating station. People resting. The only place
we can run to is the place presented by the sofa. That place has no name and the sofa
has no name. And yet, it has its identity. The identity of space and object without a
name. Strips and stitches were detached. Time and longevity changed its appearance,
but not its function. It is not what it wants to be. It is still what we want it to be,
nothing more. Our polygon for questioning our personal mistakes, decisions,
traumas… It is good that it exists. It will exist for a while until it becomes a story.
And the story is there to be told. Vagueness. This is not a story; this is a memory, a
moment. Intimacy of an out-of-civilization event… Only a moment and nothing
more, a moment that lasted as long as this text and a picture…
