Anastasija Kiake
6
Dutch Landscape
This is a poem about soil, the color blue and a lot of waves, all kind of waves. I’ve been walking for hours around the sites that I would visit repeatedly. I thought that my body in that way by touching, feeling, sensing could draw a map of the Dutch infrastructure of remote warfare, specifically focusing on military drones, but my map works against itself, it collapses the same way as my language often does. This a matter of something that is neither hidden nor transparent, as I can go there, and I can touch the soil of the grounds that its architecture is built upon and at the same time knowing that I cannot know to what degree geography in these cases is stretched and warped. These surfaces are here and somewhere else, in the spatial sense but also in the sense of time, because the past already happened in the future here. Maybe the legal system in that sense is the most advanced time machine that I will ever know, the inscribed past as a projection of the im/possible future of security and destruction.
I’m a visual artist who sometimes knows and sometimes doesn’t know what I am doing, because I’m not so sure about what ‘knowing’ means. An image is a word, a word is a sound, that is sometimes not readable, that is sometimes a sculpture that draws a route of touch, but not necessarily in that order, it’s not about a specific order. All of this I like to record. I walk a lot. In general, I have a problem with time, it’s a lot of problems that are expressed in one problem. I think that language often works against itself.