Space is what I occupy. Space is what objects and people occupy. Never-ending space, strange spaces, spaces of oppression, spaces of freedom, breath and space. What is intimate space? Is it inside me? Something I have around me? Or something I ask from the world? What are the most intimate spaces? - Bed, bath, home, kitchen. Can intimacy happen anywhere? Hospital, funeral, tent, bedroom…..
Intimate relationship with the street, nature, the weather, with friends, with objects - cups, glasses, cutlery, surfaces, materials, garments. Hands are the ingredient. Hands give us the intimate contact with the multiple surfaces that we encounter. Hands express the person. How does the person treat the material world? Is it a creative act, this constant contact? How do I measure the intimacy of an action?
Combing your hair – an intimate moment, perhaps more intimate than any of the ones that passed in the previous 12 hours. In that moment I witness what seems like a private act.
A meal shared from a common table. Wine poured from one bottle. I create a space which I invite you to enter. What do I want to happen? How do I make it happen? Or does it happen without intention, the sharing of intimate life? Boundaries broken, boundaries crossed, boundaries shattered.
What do your hands tell me as I watch you do the simplest things? Hands in play; purposeful play, purposeless play. I remember you looking all the time at your palms, looking for the answer to a question which you didn’t know yet. Were you looking for blame there? Magic hands, hands that make, hands that hide, hands that hurt.
Hand hold. Climb, break, rip; drama in the hands. What would I do without them? What would you do without them? The palm of the hand, it doesn’t touch when you shake with someone, the gap remains. To hold in the palm of the hand is to elevate, to consider; to balance. Pass from hand to hand, play catch, bounce.
