Breath /Break is a series of work that carries a destructive element to it or as people have described it: self-destructive. One part of the series is an attempt to deal with set notions of self and the social tendency of singularising, territorialising and separation, such as identity, nationalism, career and ideas. In opposition I seek to highlight images made of diversity, fragility, temporary and unfolding processes. Thus breaking is about destroying fixed notions, which lies within our social tendencies and myself, yet it is also a destruction, which encourages transformation and processes of heterogenesis* as nothing is lost, only because it looses its form.
*Heterogenesity is an expression of desire, of becoming that is always in the process of adapting, transforming and modifying itself, in relation to its environment.’ (Felix Guattari)
Some say that Balkan is the combination of Bal and Kan, meaning Honey and Blood. Other would say it is not so specific, but that it, however, refers to a reddish colour – a mixture of the two. This performance took place in Skopje, Macedonia, which flag is red and yellow.
A long red string created of smaller piece tied together. Everyone has been helping and as the string becomes longer, I spin it around my arm. It gets thick and heavy – heavier than I expected. A piece of broken glass, honey, nail polish, Rakia, water balloons and a candle. All either red or yellow, except for the broken piece of glass, which I have placed in my hand, after colouring my nails. The glass is covered in honey, dripping onto the street. Fireworks out of my mouth, Rakia in my throat, broken glass and honey smeared into the texture of the red string. The street is covered in honey, glass, ash and broken water balloons. It looks like the aftermath of a night out. The honey string is untwined and I connect people’s fingers and hands, everyone touched by honey and yarn. I pull and tuck the string and the line becomes a bundle. People move. People stand closer. A single red candle is burning quietly from my palm as I blow onto it. The flame is dancing – delicate and fragile – until I blow too hard and smoke slowly rises into the air and the string is broken.