Nesting

I make nests from whatever I find, for already 4 years. Each summer. Small gestures and simple interventions, found materials, made-up healing rites. Karelian ( Finnish exiles ) homes carry a lot of history in them. Sometimes it feels like the past takes up almost as much room as the future does. They are nests, but they’re not mine. I’m still the cuckoo egg here. The dybbuk.

Still, there’s a kind of freedom in it. Building into something already settled, already foreseen, and finding a small crack in it. Nets and nests aren’t so different, they are woven, they hold you and both can tangle you up. I try to observe, how we relation with and share fantasies about nature, and what is really artificial and what is not.

And then there’s the glory of a Finnish summer on top of all this. Tailorbirds actually sew their nests shut, beak and fiber. Kauas pilvet karkaavat. Far the clouds go. You lose something first, then maybe you gain something.