LOTTE GEEVEN

ECHO CHANT

In a universe from which no particle escapes, every voice eventually fades away. No matter how loud or often a call shouts or how urgent the message is. At least… in theory. But what about real life? As a roaring voice in full force rises from a protest over a square, it sets billions of atoms in motion above a crowd. “No justice, No Peace!” The message of vibrating particles charged with kinetic energy empowers the mass and shakes the established order on a verge of collapse. Here, the voice of the people resonates loudly through the streets. A cantor stirs up the crowd. “What do we want?” “Justice!”, “When do we want it?” “Now!”. His voice hypnotises and galvanises  each single individual within earshot. Until everyone is swept along in the wake of an almost inescapable law of alignment. A law of physics that drives the masses in sync in rhythm, heartbeat and emotion. This spectacular magic trick can make a person or animal disappear into the crowd in broad daylight. For a while; for a week or year; as long as it takes to shake a failing system and make way for change. All according to the laws of nature.  Artist Lotte Geeven listened to these hotspots of change around the world after the streets and squares had been swept clean and silence had returned. Looking for an echo. 

VIDEO

NL

Uit een universum waaruit geen deeltje ontsnapt verdwijnt uiteindelijk iedere stem, hij zwakt af lost op. Hoe hard of vaak een roep ook klonk of hoe urgent de boodschap ook was. Althans in theorie. Maar hoe zit dit in de praktijk? Kunstenaar Lotte Geeven  luisterde afgelopen jaar aandachtig naar de wereld die kraakt op haar voegen. Op deze plekken klinkt de stem van het volk door de straten. Een voorzanger zweept de menigte op.“What do we want?”  “Justice!”, “When do we want it?” “Now!”. Het echo gezang wat opstijgt uit de menigte werkt hypnotiserend en verbindt individuen tijdelijk tot een veelkoppige massa. De leuzen zetten kracht bij om door te gaan tot een gevestigde orde buigt of breekt. Deze massa bestaat niet alleen uit mensen. In het werk Echo Chant vond Geeven op verschillende plekken op aarde vogels die in de bezwering van het gezang werden meegetrokken. Vogels die vanaf daken, bomen en open ramen getuigen waren van de luide brandpunten van de wereld. En nadat de straten en pleinen waren schoongeveegd de boodschap doorgaven. Als onverwachte bondgenoten van de stem van het volk.


Made possible by: Machinery of Me, Arnhem (NL)
Curated by: Maarten Verweij en Rieke Righolt
Photographs: Lola Beekhuijzen Production: Michael Klinkenberg, Mr Soundmount
Technique: Kees Reedijk, Rijksakademie
Light design: Wijnand van der Horst
AV: Revolute
Production assistent: Lola Beekhuijzen
Composing Advisor: Marcus Bruystens
Vinyl: Dubplate.be
Film & edit advise: Eric Feijten
Special thanks to: Hareco Dier en Vriend
Sponsor: Gemeente Arnhem and Provincie Gelderland

THE SAND MACHINE

A worldwide search for singing sand by soundartists Lotte Geeven.

text by Jennifer Gersten, senior editor at Guernica New York

The samples of singing sand that the Amsterdam-based artist Lotte Geeven is soliciting from desert residents around the globe for her latest work, four batches have made it to Geeven’s doorstep without incident. The rest are languishing—at Dutch customs and police stations, a bus station in Brussels, another office in the Western Sahara—or lost. “Roaring sand is not just something you can buy,” Geeven tells me. For this project, she is prepared to be patient. Singing sand, a rare variety of sand that emits a thunderous hum as it slides down certain dunes, is a phenomenon exclusive to the planet’s nooks and crannies: spots in Nevada’s Mojave Desert, Chile’s Copiapo, and Mongolia’s Gobi Desert, among others. For The Sand Machine, Geeven, in collaboration with two French acousticians, will assemble twelve machines to amplify the sounds of twelve types of singing sand, allowing these typically distant musics to resound in public for the first time,.

Anyone may send a sample to the address listed on her website by the September deadline; the artist promises to reimburse the costs of shipping. Resembling a helicopter flying overhead, the sand’s voluminous song maintains an uneasy relationship with its granular source, as though the two had barely met. Each machine, a circular drum a meter-long in diameter, will contain a rotating blade that pushes the sand forward, simulating the environment that permits this peculiar acoustic property. Though the sand has been more difficult to come by than Geeven envisioned, she proceeds unfazed.
Exhibited internationally and inhabiting no single medium, Geeven’s work is as taken with process as with execution. Just as important as the final product are the narratives that happen upon her path, like coltish figure skaters. In several projects, including The Sand Machine, she enlists technical expertise to prod the extremities of our planet: The Sound of the Earth is a recording from the deepest hole on Earth, an approximately 5.5-mile-deep pit on the border of the Czech Republic, which Geeven located after extensive collaboration with several scientists.

Born to two artists, Geeven, thirty-eight, grew up walking among her parents’ sculptures and paintings, which struck her as “puzzles to solve.” The eclectic preoccupations spanning her work often resemble thoughtful pranks, disrupting unassuming spaces. Her residencies, including stints in Xiamen, Tblisi, and Kythera, are experiments with surveillance, sound, and botany, among others, poking at the seams in her surroundings. 

Guernica: How did you first become interested in art that engages the natural world?

Lotte Geeven: We live in a systematical world where everything is explained and organized. Beneath this man-made system, there are wild, chaotic forces of nature that choreograph our behavior. While we are inclined to control and explain these forces, I try to see how we can relate to them in a different manner. I find that through art, literature, or poetry we get a deeper, non-intellectual understanding of this unstable world and our place in it.
Ahmed Salem Dabah with Morocco sand.

Guernica: What prompted your interest in the desert, and singing sand in particular?

Lotte Geeven: For me, the desert is like an empty sky. It’s a blank canvas, a projection field for your imagination. It’s almost abstract art. The acoustic sand I’m interested in is rare sand that generates a deep hum when it is put in motion, whether by the wind or by your hand. This acoustic sand occurs only in a few remote locations around the world: a hill in the desert of Mongolia and an area in the middle of the Namib Desert, to name a few. Sliding these layers of sand over one other generates vibrations that emit a deep, low rumbling pitch. This principle can be compared to a bow striking a cello string. In volume, this concert of sand can be as loud as the sound of a helicopter flying over your head. The singing sand phenomenon has puzzled people for many centuries, and there are various contradicting scientific theories about what exactly makes the sand sing. One thing is for sure: the size, shape, and surface texture of the grains have to be spot on in order for it to generate sound. The sound of this sand is so rare and so strange. So few people have heard this before. Listening, you have almost the same joy that you had when you were a kid, witnessing things around you for the first time. It surrounds you and gets really deep under your skin. When I heard it, I was very moved.
 
Guernica: Many of your projects involve interacting with earth objects in an unexpected fashion, whether by listening to sand or viewing mercury up close. What sorts of insights become possible as a result of displacing typical sensory relationships with the world?  

Lotte Geeven: My works consist of minimal gestures that allow space for reinterpretation. Many of my works—The River, in which I have a river speak through the mouths of hundreds of poets; The Sound of the Earth, in which you listen to the earth roar; 127109 & 129110, in which the sea choreographs an encounter between two objects—explore the interaction between nature and humanity in simple terms. Such works allow the viewer to perceive the forces of the natural world as something unknown that is nevertheless part of us.

Guernica: How did you become invested in obtaining sonic representations of earth materials?

Lotte Geeven: The surfaces of our everyday lives are flooded with images that don’t enter our deeper consciousness. But sound sometimes can wedge its way deeper into the brain and move you. I have always been fascinated by how a natural sound is able to transport us to an atmospheric mental space disconnected from logic or reason. Whenever such a sound has a debatable or mysterious origin, like those sounds produced by the singing sand, the vivid friction between reason and fiction comes into play. The sounds emitted by the deserts are perfect examples of something that can trigger the process of story making. It is so strange and impressive that everywhere around the world, many stories arise from sand or a hole in the earth; trying to give meaning to the unknown. How we attribute personal and cultural meaning to these natural happenings speaks to the way we relate to the abstract unknown.

Imagine that you and I were standing in the middle of the desert right now, and all of a sudden the wind rose, making the whole desert-scape around us hum like a gigantic brass band. We would be in total awe. We would tell that story, and it would make its way into local culture because of its extraordinary nature. The sand is thus like a myth: it is polished, eroded, and carried from one generation to the other like whispers.
What I have noticed from collecting singing sand so far is that acoustic landscapes are often personified. In many local stories they become living characters with morality and souls, in the same way that you would bring a dead person to life by talking about them, which I find super fascinating. The Sound of the Earth, a recording of a roaring sound coming from the deepest open hole in the planet, generated a lot of similar reactions. Some people thought it was the sound of hell; others believed they could hear the planet breathe. The Sand Machine is along those lines.

Guernica: How did you decide on the types of sand you wanted to feature in your project?

Lotte Geeven: I started out by making a series of machines with rotating blades to be filled with acoustic sand from all over the world. Two French scientists designed a lab setup that became a blueprint for The Sand Machine.
To fill these machines—or sound instruments, if you wish—I went looking for the sand that creates different tones in different places. Like a detective, I started tracking people down who lived close to the locations using Google Maps. I reached out to them via Twitter, Facebook, email, and phone and asked if they would be willing to send me some sand. To be honest, I felt a bit like a stalker scrolling their Facebook pages and looking for phone numbers. This became an extensive search. Day by day, my artwork became infused with mythical and hilarious stories about the origin of the sounds. At that point the project took a turn, and I decided to also collect the unfolding narratives told to me by the sand collectors. In the end these stories will become part of the work in the form of an additional film. The machines are being named after the people that collected the sand.

Guernica: What sorts of sand samples have you received from volunteers thus far? What do you know about their provenance?

Lotte Geeven: A few batches have arrived so far—they sound amazing, like sound portraits of the unknown. Right now there are a few batches on their way, but some are stuck at customs, and one got lost somewhere between Afghanistan and the Netherlands. Trying to get ahold of sand from remote areas actually seems fairly easy on paper, but proves to be extremely complicated in reality. The Dutch police even called me about one batch because they didn’t trust this big bag of sand. Another batch is stuck in a bus office in Brussels. At the moment there are four more people who will collect some of the sand for this project soon. Fingers crossed.  These difficulties are noteworthy because we live in a time where we could easily order a camera from China or a book from Australia, and within a week or two these objects from the other end of the world have been delivered to our doorsteps. But roaring sand is not just something you can buy—it’s proved to be a rare resource that feels like it needs to be negotiated. Making this sand travel to me requires lots of resourcefulness, determination, patience, luck, and, most of all, the kindness and goodwill of others. The people I found online were at first very surprised and even excited that I had contacted them about sending me some sand. Immediately afterwards, they’d start telling me incredible tales about these sounds.
Najibullah Sedeqe collecting sand in Afghanistan. One of my favorite stories that I’ve collected is from a man named Najibullah, from Afghanistan. He lived close to a singing sand site, and he agreed to my request to go and look for some. About the mountain where the sand was located, the story goes that if you take something from the mountain, it will be returned to the mountain while you are asleep. That’s exactly what happened. He took a huge bag of sand and sent it through customs, and it got lost. In the end, actually sending the sand has proven to be a step too far for most people, which I can totally understand. About one out of every thirty people has been so incredibly generous and kind to ship the sand to the Netherlands. They include Rizwan, a limousine driver in Oman who likes to smoke his after-work-cigarette in the singing sand dunes, and Melanie, a lady living on the loneliest highway in the world in Nevada, went into the desert and collected sand for my project.

Guernica: Have you collected any sand samples yourself?

Lotte Geeven: I tried collecting acoustic sand too, which resulted in a rather unexpected adventure. I traveled to the Negev desert in Israel after hearing that there was a spot where the sand was supposed to sing. After a long journey, the doors of our bus opened, and I walked out into the desert. I heard a sound, looked to the left, and froze. I was facing a dozen tanks and armed soldiers. The hill of sand was apparently located close to the entrance of a military base, and the guys were completely puzzled by this foreign stranger approaching them with an empty bag and a camera.  At that point a missile exploded one kilometer away from us. This hill was located in the middle of a firing zone close to Gaza, and I was told that the whole mountain was full of unexploded devices and that I wouldn’t be able to get closer. I sat down with the guys and we drank a Coke on the military base. They told me that in the winters, when the wind blows, they can  hear the mountain sing.

Guernica: Your previous project, which entailed recording the sounds of the lowest places on earth, also involved long-term collaborations with physicists, seismologists, and engineers, among other members of the scientific community. What influence has working with science had on how you think about your art?

Lotte Geeven: The way I work is like how scientists work. They set some parameters and make something happen. They drop a ball and then they witness. Similarly, I cannot control the outcome of the artwork—it is choreographed by forces beyond. When I look for answers to simple questions I pursue in my work—like, what is the sound of the earth?—I always stumble upon scientists at some point. Collaborating with them isn’t always easy. Art and science are two different ball games. But in the end these projects are often as interesting for me as an artist as they are for the scientists. In these collaborations there is space for doubt and the unknown. My work is political in the softest sense of the word—I evoke space for doubt, for new thought and interpretation of the world around us. These qualities are very human and essential. Hard science has no place for this. It looks for answers and I don’t.

Guernica: Oftentimes your work takes the form of a variety of disruption, in which you induce an event within an unexpected landscape. Who do you perceive to be your audience in these “disruptive” projects? Is it you, observing the results of your manipulations? Or the people engaging with the work?

Lotte Geeven: I have a problem with the word “audience.” It places the artwork on a stage somehow, and creates a huge distance between the art and the people engaged with it. I don’t like my art to be high-end stuff that nobody gets; I want to make things that touch people. The art starts when it begins to engage the other, and we become both audience and curator.

DIFFUSION

Commisioned by the City of Gent, Tondelier Development nv Piloot.co (Pilootproject Tondelier), an initiative by Team Vlaams Bouwmeester a.o. Presentation Design Museum Ghent.

A molecular aura of 100 people produced in Rabot, during sex, sports, affection, euphoria, stress, fear and rage.

(Lotte Geeven & Yeb Wiersma)

THE FOREST COMMUNITY

Giant magic candy ball made from hundreds of natural uppers and downers from plants in the Amazone forest.

The Sky Museum

The camera slowly slides from by a series of exhibition spaces, the liquid floor swirls and crystalizes.

THE RIVER

May, New Orleans USA

Installation, book & sound piece

This is a book of lines describing the 2320.2 mile current of The Great Mississippi River. The 440 page book navigates from one voice to another, through history, past the muddy riverbanks, through valleys, okra fields and plantations. This portrait has been constructed with sentences of hundreds of poems mentioning the river, captivating words about the water and arranging them state by state, from the source of the river to the delta.

listen here to dr. Christophe Jackson reading The River.

produced during a residency at May May Artistic Director: Keene Kopper Publication Director: Émilie Lamy
Produced with support from: The Mondriaan Fund, Rosa Mary Foundation, The Netherlands America Foundation, RISO, Michael Wilkinson and the May Season Members  

Hg1 & Hg2

Ter Apel Monastery, The Netherlands


Programming: Rad0van
Design and research: Miriam van Eck

made possible by: KNMI, Camras, Astron, Provincie Groningen, Kunstraad Groningen, Provincie Drenthe, 250 jaar van het Stadskanaal/ 400 jaar de Semslinie, Gemeente Aa en Hunze, Arriva, Gemeente Borger-Odoorn, Gemeente Emmen, Stichting J.B. Scholtenfonds, Agenda voor de Veenkolonieën, Gemeente Stadskanaal en het Stichting Wildervank Fonds, Jan Willem Kok, Monica Boekholt,  Jan van Muijlwijk,  Harry Keizer, Paul Groot, Gert-Jan van den Hazel.

WALTER

in collaboration with Thomas Grill.

A machine that translates the states of the sea into spoken language.

Algorithm: Dr. Thomas Grill
Design Walter + production: Miriam van Eck
Book: Edwin van Gender, mainstudio
Research: Kindly advised by Mag. Dr. Brigitte Krenn; specialized in Computational Linguistics, Literature, Psychology and Philosophy
Curator for TodaysArt: Petra Heck

Text: Lotte Geeven created the new piece Walter in collaboration with professor Thomas Grill; an oracle-algorithm that gives the sea a voice. This cube-shaped talking computer Walter meticulously observes the sea in motion through the eye its’ lens and connects all different sea-states to our language. During bright hours the digital oracle reads the ocean as neutral to positive whereas clouded periods, dawn and nighttime will darken its’ vocabulary with the diminishing of light. In this piece the sea is perceived as a giant living entity with many moods and faces. These moods narrate words with an ancient connection emitting fine-tuned word-clouds of closely related words with ancient ties in etymology, and a psycho-linguistic link. For instance a bright and calm sea will be peaceful speaking light, bright words such as lotus or lemonade while a dark and dynamic sea will be furious and speak of terror and loss. The voice of Walter reacts to the surface of the sea whispering when the sea is calm and calling out loud in violent storms so that at the end of The Pier one can hear the sea speak for the first time.

THE SOUND OF THE EARTH

For this project I travelled to the deepest open hole in the world to find out about it’s mysteries and to record the sound of the earth. Based on this travel I made a series of artworks. During the project I was an artist warmly welcomed on the territory of science by the GFZ with a question of an existential and poetic nature: ‘What does the earth sound like?’.

In order to record sound in the bore fluid that fills the borehole a normal microphone would not work so first sonic transducer data and later geophone recordings where translated into audio by software designed by the team for this specific purpose.

VIDEO

CREDITS
Rachid Abu-Hassan; visuals and acoustics Arup (an independent firm of designers, planners, engineers, consultants and technical specialists)
Mister Jochem Kück & all colleagues of the great GFZ (The object of research of the GFZ is the Earth System. They study the history of the earth and its  characteristics, as well as the processes which occur on its surface and within is interior) KTB superdeep borehole (the deepest accessible hole on the planet) Miss Tramaine de Senna (research/production assistant) Miel Kühr, Professor Wybren Jan Buma UVA, Kleurgamma, Karina Pálosi, Gieneke Pieterse, Bas Hendrikx, Nienke Vijlbrief.

Production-team  Tramaine de Senna, Frederique Jonker, Thera Clazing and Inez de Brauw.Programming and electronics Jaap Vermaas ZB45 Makerspace. Financers of the search for the sound of the earth and the exhibition Mondriaan Foundation and Amsterdam Fund for the Arts.Followed by BBC Radio and documentary maker Fleur Amesz.

27109 & 127110

installation and a journey at sea of two objects.

PROJECT WEBSITE

Follow the two objects 127109 & 127110 during a yearlong journey floating towards each other in the North Atlantic Ocean. What are the odds two things will meet in the middle of this 76.762.000 km² territory? Zero. Or many not? This question was reason for artist Lotte Geeven to put things to the test. She brought in an international team of scientists specialized in studying the behaviour of the sea to search for an answer. Two sensory robots named 127109 & 127110 were brought to life and were deployed 7000 kilometres apart in the currents on opposing sides of the Atlantic Ocean; One in The Gulf of Mexico and the other far out the Portuguese coast. The location and time of the deployment of both objects has been carefully calculated in order to optimize the chances of an encounter. At the mercy of the sea’s slow choreography, 27109 & 127110 are predicted to meet in the middle within the timespan of a year; the place where two giant currents curl around. The moment the two robots touch the water, the project’s outcome is entirely ruled by the forces of nature.

ONLINE SOUND-PIECE

Made possible by: National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (US), the Louisiana Universities Marine Consortium (US), the Marine Institute (IR) and Unidad de Tecnología Marina (SP) Marcus Bruystens, André Martens, Eva Schippers, Ross Palmer, David Bernstein, Daniel Carlson, Léa Mercier, Sarah Bergmann, Lieve Kramer, Stefan Cammeraat, Wim Noordhoek, Shaun Dolk , Alexander S. Kolker, the R/V Pelican crew, Aodhan Fitzgerald, Glenn Nolan, César Gonzales-Pola, Miki Ojeda, Adriaan Mellegers , Zoraïma Hupkes, Janina Frye & Danbee Choi.

text by Andrea Alessi for Artslant

All images: Heidi Vogels

When Lotte Geeven released two floating robots into opposite sides of the Atlantic last fall, she questioned the probability of them meeting within such a tremendous space and hoped to learn about the ocean by following their paths. “The moment the two robots touch the water,” she wrote, “the project’s outcome is entirely ruled by the forces of nature.” Four months into the project, what she’s learned instead, and perhaps knew all along, is that oceans will do what they want—and so will humans. On top of the vicissitudes of ocean currents, Geeven can now add the denizens of a sleepy North African port town to her artwork’s improbable story.

I reported on 127109 & 127110 last September, when Geeven released the eponymous sensory robots—spherical buoy-like objects with submerged GPS sensors—into the Gulf Stream and Canary Current, some 7,000km apart. Collaborating with oceanographers from four marine institutes, Geeven chose the times and locations of their deployment to give her robots the best possible chance of reuniting in a year’s time in the center of the Atlantic, carried passively by the opposing currents. Anyone who’s been tracking the robots in real time on the project website will have a sense of the epic scope—and the seeming futility—of this challenge. Traveling hundreds of miles, though very much still near their respective coasts, 127109 and 127110 have been thrown off course by tropical storms, dragged in mysterious and short-lived straight lines, and stuck twirling in a Bermuda Triangle holding pattern. Nevertheless, they were generally making progress until December, when 127109 was pulled in a direct line off the coast of Morocco into the small port town of Asilah, about 31 km from Tangier. Geeven was in Chongqing, China, working on a related project when she realized, to her horror, that 127109 was headed aground. She made immediate plans to travel to Morocco with filmmaker Heidi Vogels to learn what happened and hopefully recover the missing art object.

Easier said than done. 127109 is equipped with GPS sensors—a dream for anyone with a target gone AWOL—but four days before Geeven and Vogels’ arrival, the signal went dead. 127109 was truly lost. It might have been destroyed, dismantled, or—best-case scenario—perhaps it had been stationary long enough that it had simply gone into standby mode. What they ultimately found, after three days of inquiries, disheartening speculation, and evasive answers, was the story of a local fisherman. He’d had an unproductive day at sea and was about to head home when his radar detected something. He discovered what looked like a buoy and beneath it, thrashing around in the net of the sensory devices, were dozens of fish. The “buoy” returned to shore with him, where it disappeared. What did he and the people of Asilah think of the project in which they’d unwittingly picked up supporting roles? Receptive, it seems: Geeven’s luck in finding 127109 changed only once they’d understood it as an artwork. Language was a huge barrier; initially people thought she represented a foreign scientific agency, and she made little progress with Asilah residents and local authorities. Then she remembered a French translation of a press release she had describing the artwork. When she handed it over to the police chief to clarify her mission he was touched by the artwork’s gesture—mais c'est magnifique… c'est poetry!—and the possibility of the robots’ reunion. He wasn’t the only one: the fisherman who found 127109 had initially hidden it and was reluctant to come forward, but he ultimately understood the project, telling Geeven it was the will of Allah that he had found it and could return it to her.

Around the time the robots were deployed Geeven said, “I am interested in the chance of an encounter, but also in a possible failure.” What does this terrestrial detour mean for an ostensibly ocean-based artwork? “The abstraction of the journey has been broken by an epic intervention,” she says, and this “changes everything.” 127109 & 127110 started with humans as mere observers, but “suddenly it was personal and I was part of a work. Literally.”

Geeven’s work has always dealt with mapping, storytelling, the blending of subjectivity, fact, and fiction. “Creating a work,” she says, “for me is like writing fiction in reality.” Asilah became a sort of improvisational theatre onto which the story of 127109 played out, its occupants the unsuspecting cast in this staged reality. The fisherman’s story about how he found the artwork was fantastical and absurd “but I choose to believe him. Just like me he is a storyteller; I came all the way to Asilah to meet another storyteller.”

DUTCH INTERVIEW

Latitude: 9.702646 | Longitude: 99.663559
Travel, research, graphics, seed-bank and photographs.

EN
On a desert island in the Gulf of Thailand I gathered seeds, tubers and rhizomes of grasses, mangroves, trees and flowers. In an attempt to collect the total ecosystem of a 4 square kilometre paradise I dug the ground; climbed trees and rocks in search of all pieces of this complicated ecological puzzle. After these where shipped to Holland in boxes. The illegally imported community – now stored in a steel preservation tank  - is ready to be brought to live at any time. It is a tropical fragmentation bomb consisting of hundreds seductive microsculptures that use poison, spikes and spear form in a battle for a place inthe dynamic ecosystem of the island. On the one hand the tank preserves anideal place but on the other hand, it is a Trojan horse with its ability togerminate in a potentially hostile system.

NL
Op een onbewoond eiland in de golf van Thailand verzamelde Lotte Geeven zaden, knollen en wortelstokken van o.a. grassen, mangroven, bomen en bloemen; in totaal meer dan 350 soorten. Deze illegaal geïmporteerd gemeenschap is klaar om op elk gewenst moment tot leven geroepen en is opgeslagen in de tank. Het is een tropische fragmentatiebom van honderden verleidelijke microsculpturen die zich bedienen van gif, stekels en speer-vormen in een strijd om een plek in het dynamische eiland. Voor Geeven heeft het geïmporteerde materiaal interne conflicten die haar interesseren; aan de ene kant tracht het een ideale plek te conserveren maar anderzijds is het een Trojaans paard met in z’n kiemkracht een potentieel vijandig systeem. 

contact info@geeven.nl for more info and press images

The oldest light in the universe

Comissioned by Into Nature