I’ve left the sun confused

the sun stares at my face
looks at me while I’m writing
my hair drenched in its light
slightly bouncing
and as I move my hand across the page
with decisiveness
a pigeon screams: “LIES!”
before it flies off

Mummelbed

 Every once in a while, someone comes up to me and asks me: why blankets? Why beds? Why lamps? There are a few possibilities as to why these are the objects I often return to. One of them is my childhood story about ‘Mummelbed’. When I was younger, I used to carry around this big blanket, almost everywhere I went. A white, one-person blanket where you sleep under. I loved the smell, the softness. It was so comforting. And warm. I used to press my nose against it and it would immediately calm me down. But wherever I would go with it, there was always someone who asked if I was going to a sleepover. I would be slightly irritated and answer: NO! This is Mummelbed!

(Mummelen means: talking softly or inaudible).
 

In my work, I deprive the blankets of their original function and put them into an unusual environment; just like when I was a six years old girl, standing in the middle of the playground, wrapped in a big soft blanket, slightly irritated by people who asked me about the sleepover. Maybe those are the same people who, 17 years later, come to my exhibition and wonder: why the blankets?