Logg 27: Fallstudie
My stuffed animal Ninis lies close beside me when I go to sleep. I imagine that she protects me on my journey through the night. A wordplay my father taught me spins in my mind as I try to fall asleep, together with thoughts of the past, present, and future. Sometimes the adventures turn into nightmares, without me noticing when it happens.
When I fall asleep, I move through different worlds—sometimes continuations of previous dreams, sometimes entirely new ones. I occasionally wake up and write them down in my logbook, as far as my memory allows. During the night, I spend time with blue dogs, strange staircases, tunnels, and flying pigs.
There, the boundaries of reality dissolve—nothing is fixed, everything can change, an endless field of possibilities. I am no longer interested in understanding the meaning of dreams; I would rather play with them.
From fragments of the night, I create objects, often animal-like forms, without looking up what the animals actually look like. I hold on to the logic of the dream rather than that of the waking world. Memory is unstable and altered, but within this shift a sense of freedom emerges. The process is playful; my hands are allowed to work before understanding, and I often laugh at what takes shape, even when the starting point was something that frightened me.
The work has become a ritual. By giving these inner images a body in different textiles, a movement occurs from the inner to the outer. When the piece is finished, the dream stops returning. What once moved freely in my subconscious has been released and given a place in the consciousness of others.
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