ROOM 1.

We start the journey at night

when focus is at its peak.

Silence. Transparent Air.

Smell your skin. and REMEMBER

Drink something warm and light.

NOW, You are ready to watch & listen.

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A group 17 women classified their memories buried in their hard drives. Here ordinary intimacy and simple details are interwoven with major events.

Hélène Bougy - French | SOILLESS / HORS SOL

HORS SOL (SOILLESS) is a series of ten very short films made during the quarantine from my apartment in Cherbourg, a port city in Normandy. These ten films of around 3'45 evolve over the weeks. It is imbued with my intimacy battered by the violence of what is happening outside. It walks in my interior landscapes. It comes across old memories, Agnès Varda, Allen Ginsberg, singing trees, jellyfish, Chantal Akerman and many other figures.

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Claudia Orsetti - Italian | ORDINARY INTIMACY

SouvenirElen Huynh

00:00 / 06:10

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A sound navigation through waves of introspection where memories intertwine, wander and disappear. The face of the sea, the voice of a missing parent, the ambient noises from public spaces and home... Memories of a past reality that have been brought to the surface and painted in a sky full of questions during the lockdown. Through the window, that place between inside and outside, the paths of solitude and thought open, thereby changing our perception of the tangible world and reopening the field of possibilities. Words are taken from Cesare Pavese "Travailler fatigue - La Mort viendra et elle aura tes yeux". "Souvenir" was composed in March 2020, the piece is dedicated in memory of K.D.

Listen Elen and watch Claudia's photo together.

Elen Huynh - French | SOUVENIR

Anna Dziapshipa - Georgian

HOW DESERTED LIES THE CITY

Being in a lockdown and waking up in increasingly dystopian world day by day, I am constantly thinking about the loneliness, accepting how much my perception of this notion is changing. What I meant by loneliness approximately several weeks or months ago is vanishing.

This thought brings me to my personal archives. Attempts of audiovisual fixation of the moments of solitude. Images of being alone behind different mediums as an observer and appreciator of remoteness.

I made this short video from that audiovisual archives, never meant to be public. They come from different countries, throughout different years, different moments and seconds depicted
with various moods.

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Anna Sarukhanova - Georgian | ES REGNET

When stuck at home, you are left alone with yourself and your thoughts. You see your reflection in the mirror and doubt if it's really you or not. I reviewed my archive footage in the context of these perceptions. It is an attempt to get out of the mirror and see a new perspective.

. ALONE

IN A ROOM

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Malely Linares Sánchez - Columbian | MIRADA FUGITIVA

I returned to Colombia to carry out a series of immigration procedures. At that time, quarantine was decreed, airports were closed and a new period began for my own history.

Living again in the maternal home, after a decade in which I lived in my "own room" alone, much of the time. Before the period of compulsory isolation began, I saw the series "Russian Doll", and I wondered what it would be like to repeat an unexpected cycle, a continuous, daily death, how to try to escape it and doubt if it would be worth it, how to look for the exits. to our cages on a retrospective return to confront the girl I was and a specular journey to what might happen tomorrow.

Katalin Száraz - Hungarian | AUTOPORTRAIT

< here discover her vocal testimonial about isolation.

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Sofia Legarreta- Mexican | HYPERMNESIA

Mirrors reshape my reality. This poem explores the idea of mirrors as portals to the unknown, being able to morph into windows or walls.

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Feeling Blue - Mano Svanidze (7) - Natal

Feeling Blue - Mano Svanidze (9) - Natal

"Mirrors, windows and walls,
dark voices of irrationality.
Somewhere in my memory,
the message is hidden,
waiting to be fertilized.
My reflection is still and detached,
becoming a transparent container.
I am nothing, I see all.
The division between the sensible and the intelligible,
comes to be fused and erased.
My distorted reflection is becoming a sensation,
it follows me through windows and walls,
waiting to come out when the weather gets bad.
When I open my eyes, I find myself alone,
in front of the mirror.
I am nothing, I see all.
My eyes feel like a solar disc,
all around me I feel traces of empty reflections.
The only barrier left is fleshiness itself.
The mirror breaks the skin, the walls break the flesh,
and the windows open the ribs in half.
I trespass them as an invisible being,
leaving behind only my sensible marks.
The marks on fabric and soft materials
are the only sign I am truly here.
Breaking through them and looking behind,
I open the heterotopic eye.

Mano Svanidze - Georgian | FEELING BLUE

"Feeling blue" is a dystopian future, where humans live in isolation and where all social interaction is banned. Memories are the only place where physical interaction exists.

Being self-isolated for two weeks has already ruined my sleep pattern. I have used film negatives as a metaphor for my own negative feelings towards the possibility of a total inversion of social reality. Past social pressure to engage in human interaction is replaced with the demand to isolate oneself, just like light and dark surfaces are inverted in negatives to reflect a state of isolation.

Feeling Blue - Mano Svanidze (1) - Natal

Feeling Blue - Mano Svanidze (3) - Natal

Feeling Blue - Mano Svanidze (2) - Natal

Feeling Blue - Mano Svanidze (4) - Natal

Feeling Blue - Mano Svanidze (8) - Natal

Feeling Blue - Mano Svanidze (5) - Natal

“I will have my serpent’s tongue - my woman’s voice, my sexual voice, my poet’s voice. I will overcome the tradition of silence”

(Gloria Anzaldúa“Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza”).

This essay tells my journey as a lesbian artist to overcome the tradition of silence.

During quarantine // look at the ghosts around you // the women that came before // listen to them // listen to yourself // let me in // inside me, I say // I had a nightmare last night // a bright silence // not a word // not a voice // not a tongue // do you hear me? // is my voice enough? // do I have my women’s voice? // do I have my sexual voice? // do I have my poet’s voice? // I do. // I know I do. I am feeling scared. I am feeling locked in my own head. I am afraid of not having a voice, of not being able to speak my mind. I am afraid I do not know my body. I am afraid for people I have never met. I am still trapped in my fear of what is coming. But I know I am alive when I feel all of that. I know I am alive when I breathe art and dance in my room. Or just watch through my window the neighbors living their lives inside their own spaces and inside their own heads. I know I am alive. I know I am alive when I somehow connect to the women that came before me. I know I am strong. I know I am alive when I scream at the top of my lungs: ‘It's over’. I know I am alive and empowered when I feel like making a revolution with my own tongue, with my own hands. I know I have a voice. I am taking my time to grow my furious enclosed garden.

Rezi de Souza - Brazilian

My serpent’s tongue

Essay

Later into the dark night,

digging in your memories,

you might feel anxious.

This following collage by Celia Stroom offers an immersion into

the fear, stupor, anguish and sadness of

Evelyn Bencicova, Katalin Száraz, Anna Dziapshipa, Rezi de Souza, Liz Penniman, Marika Kochiashvili, Yael Barlev, Magdalena Stachowiak,Sujaan Shrestha.

Clouds of screams,
Sound breaths,
Reverse night,
The tide invites

itself into

our dreams.

And there,

while our mind is floating,

we confess

who we are

Evelyn - Slovak

Katalin- Hungarian

Yael- Israelian

Anna - Georgian

Rezi - Brazilian

Liz - American

Sujaan - Nepali

Marika - Georgian

Magdalena - Polish

Iulia Smeu Kite - Romanian

I'm wearing black

In the bottom of the night

She plays and writes about her

deep hole. Read and Listen

at same time to feel.

"It feels like it all stopped.

And then a rush of thoughts
rocket through my head,

anxiety and fear,

fear of losing everything,

that I
know nothing,

what am I doing?

What is this?

What do I
play this violin?

I feel paralyzed

and stuck

in the basement where all the walls seem now to fall on me.

It is like in dreams you want to run because of a threat,
you want to scream

and it just feels like your body is stuck with black slime to the environment, you just want to run.

I wanted to get out. I wanted to take a break. I already lost everything,

my self-confidence

for sure,

I’m not
raising at all at the level of who I was

and what I was doing back then.

I feel like I have to know exactly what I’m doing. However I don’t have a clue and then when anxiety strikes, everything that I don’t want comes
out. Because I think of it, of avoiding it and then I take it up front.

There’s a hole in the street, don’t go into it.

Ah

there

I fell.

SO LET’S PLAY MUSIC.

I had tentacles coming out
of my mouth and through all the openings of my body, my stomach contracted;

I went to the basement.

The dead 3cm cockroach in the corner of the room caught my attention but I decided to ignore it, instead leaving him branching into my spine and
nervous system with his red-brown legs and displaced head.

A dozen cockroaches

behind my skull,

I vomit green

and decide to play.

I feel my body start turning anxious,

blood is rushing to my cheeks, my hands get tense, my heart starts pounding.

I feel trapped in this narrow
perspective and all of the sudden everything turns threatening.

Sounds are threatening me, demanding my response,

and then I decide

to show

who I am!
So I play, I play violin, I play notes, scales, double stops. My classical violin skills have sunk like Titanic, it’s frustrating, it’s just out.

Off and out of tune. I am out of tune.

Why am I doing this?
I went up to my room, the floor was empty of other people. I took my violin out and sat on top of my bed. I wanted to breathe, I’m playing soft.
Yes, soft soft again. I’m trying to have patience,

why am I trying,

it’s a flow of energy.

I breathe.

It’s me now,

it was me back then,
I don’t know what happened... it was a psychedelic stream of
consciousness that carried me in its flow. And I just let myself be carried.

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