SYMBOLS OF LUCK (FELICITY OF A RICE GRAIN is work title)

To whom does the space in between one’s fingers belong? Around the body, just outside the skin, it’s no man’s land. An area that is not claimed by anyone. Where is the line between no man’s land and the outside world? Does this line define the buffer between the individual and the things around us? Margreet Kramer tampers with the size of this no man’s land, the buffer. Both with herself and others. The size of a human, not the grandeur of the world, is the true measurement. She moves boundaries and pushes them further, pulls them closer. She peels, scrapes and shells, in order to get as close as possible to others, the things around her and herself. Only in that vulnerability one can truly use ones senses and connect with others. You reach the inside, the vulnerability, the essence. Your body’s memory, the memory that cannot renounce itself. It blushes, trembles, stammers, longs to be touched and keeps breathing. One knows and recognizes oneself in these acts.
The body has memorized. Daily activities that we do not have to learn anymore, that stem from a series of other acts. Unparalleled, inevitable. A shirt on one’s naked skin. Hands that touch. Hands that peel potatoes. A cleaner who operates the buttons and yet makes the garbage disappear. Breath.