Imagine a dark room where everything is still. We light a candle. It can be out of joy or sadness, or just to see better. In the light of the candle, the room takes on colors and shapes, a beginning and an end. Different candles have different burning times; the happy ones, like birthday candles on a cake, burn for a short time, while the mourning ones, like memorial candles by a grave, burn for a long time. (My candle burns forever.)
I collect things. Things I find, or things that find me, in my everyday life. Notes on the ground, blown-out candles, a tooth from my own mouth, a small wooden model of a church. All things carry hidden stories within them, which can be hard to hear, but glimpses of them can be seen. I’m drawn to those moments. One of my sculptures has the shape of a church. At first, I didn’t understand my urge to collect, but now I know I’m looking for life. The hidden stories are carriers of life. I keep the things I find and use them as starting points for my sculptures.
In the light of a candle, you hear a woman crying. You notice that there are people around you, sitting in rows, and you realize that you are at a funeral. The crying woman looks at you. She tells you that she is a professional mourner, paid to be there. She explains that her profession is very old and used to be practiced all over the world. You can even read about it in the Bible. She tells you that her job at this funeral is to be responsible for the collective grief. Through her lament she hopes she can help others come close to their grief and dare to let it out. She tells you not to be afraid of your feelings.
