I got distracted this morning and now write this after my run rather than before. While running – up and down the five flights of stairs and lengths of the basement – I found myself wondering if porridge could be an artistic material: raw oats from the bag, or the gelatinous (?) cooked oats?
Porridge has been my regular breakfast since arriving here. I was offered it almost immediately I first set foot in the communal kitchen. Seeing the price of thick yogurt, nuts, and seeds here made me realise that I could not afford my usual breakfast here. So I reverted to porridge which had been my staple from the time I moved to Sweden to about three years ago. Thinking about lessening the distinctions that I make between the art and non-art aspects of my life no doubt led to this thought momentarily crossing my mind. It might well be a step too far … but has sparked a few more questions about how we (I!) have learnt, been taught, to follow patterns and conventions: these stuffs are for making art, these stuffs are for making food. Children don’t naturally make those distinctions … we are taught … and are rewarded with praise when we don’t play with food. Food is of course a precious commodity, and it is an increasingly political issue with the rise of living costs.
I do not think that I am about to start making porridge sculptures … though on the other hand why not see what is possible with the material … I do think however that my time here is leading me to (re)consider habitual patterns and ways of being. Yesterday I felt very at ease with things – myself, others, being here, collecting, making, testing, questioning, playing, wondering, chatting, laughing. It was quite simply a good day. It felt natural and easy to ask Kaspars about getting some basic tools even a sewing machine – which he has very kindly borrowed from his mother. I enjoyed starting to sort things out in one of the larger rooms on the fifth floor – some of the things that I had thought about didn’t work out, other things came to mind as I laid things out.
Later in the day there was a question in the group chat: was it one of us who had left stuff in the room – photo attached. It was interesting for me to notice that I answered that yes it was me without feeling either guilty or stupid – two of my usual reactions to having been ’caught’ doing something that I should not have being, even if I did not know that I should not have been doing it! The room had been shown to us as a potential presentation space the week before so it I didn’t think that I need to ask about it again – I had enquired as to whether anyone else in our group was interested in using it. Turns out that the organisation who control the whole building didn’t know that we had been shown the room – mis- or lack of communication but not on my side. It felt good not to take on issues that while involving me do not belong to me. I simply apologised and it took only a few minutes for me to move the things down to my room. After dinner the subject came up as a few of us sat around the table in the kitchen. Again I felt that I was part of a general discussion about the sometimes tense situation between the residency and the building managers. It feels as though I am in a good place and am able to distinguish between things that belong to me and things that do not – I see this as I good sign, I sign that I am comfortable and confident with who I am here. Perhaps this is what happens after two weeks in a Black Hole
