when the silence slaps,
when the silence slaps,
November 2022
We went to see Lucia and Petter.
Like we always did, when they played near Brussels.
On our way back, we were hit by a drunk driver.
Researching the sounds of the subsequent 12 numb months. Trying to comprehend and come to grips with the main occurrences and challenges I had to go through in life, while recovering and learning about myself. Living with myself, the subdural hematoma, the memory loss, the diplopia, the photophobia, the grief, depression, and everything else that followed.
My primary longing in this project of glass and paper is to embed my headspace and memories into stone, primarily the memory that was erased by the impact. It's difficult to say exactly, but it feels like +/- seven months before and some weeks after the accident are completely erased. However, even the moments and challenges I encountered during my recovery are fading. To this day, I still struggle with both long and short-term memory. Capturing and archiving these experiences, to remember and never forget, comes naturally to me. Additionally, I hope to never have to ask myself the same identity questions again. By taking the time to reflect on the months before and after the accident, I sought answers for that surreal period and aimed to make these insights last.
The second aim is to expose the numb and inaudible year I lived through. It’s impossible to pinpoint the accident to just the moment of impact; it lasted for +/- ten months. I was too confused and preoccupied with processing what had happened, while simultaneously questioning who and where I was. There was no headspace available to reflect or comprehend what had truly happened. Taking a year after that year of confusion and anger to reflect, digest, and adapt to the outside world seemed necessary.
What started as research into the pre-slap, I gradually transitioned into a phase of getting to know my surroundings and myself. Eventually, this led me back to my laptop, its tools, and creative possibilities. During the process of working, I developed isolating the essence from the analog images I had taken before and after the accident later turned into an unexpected form of therapy. As a result, I allowed myself to step back and view the occurrences from an abstract perspective. This distance made it possible for me to reflect on and digest the absurdity of it all.
In hindsight, I realized that the work process itself added an entirely new layer to the project, though never by intention.
