During my stay I indulged in a fascination for sunlight projecting through windows. It reminds me of the myth of painting’s origin, tracing a sillhouette of a lover on a wall out of a desire not to forget, to try and grab on to something that is only temporary. But really you are only left with a black hole reminding you of the thing that is lost. A physical representation of its absence.
Utilizing silver-nitrate I tried to fulfill my desire to register the momentary projections of light on canvas. Recording them in their negative, the result is a series of cold brown stained canvasses, raw cotton discolored as a crude underpainting or a piece of furniture left standing in the sun. Besides the dashes of light the artifacts of the medium of recording itself where fixated alongside, creases in the fabric, stains of the solution and other markings of its application become part of the bare but none the less mysteriously illusionistic images.