Les chaussons pour les invités
I imagine the sensation of this muddy ground covered with roots. I choose those that float on the surface and arrange them to imitate the soil.
I can only be a visitor.
I make shoes, perhaps to be closer to the environment, for an indirect contact with the nature that hides behind the screen, behind the fear of the dark, where something is always missing.
CONTEXT
Last year, 2020, I spent for the first time in France without the option of going to Croatia. From March to May, during the first Covid lockdown, we left the house once a day, usually for a walk in the yard, where, like guinea pigs in a cage, we would circle on the 10-metre path to the other side of the garden, from wall to wall. For the second winter lockdown of the same year, we were granted the right to work in the studio. As self-employed, this time we had the right to write “permissions” for ourselves, stating that we could not continue working from home. All events, public and private, in our collective studio were interrupted. Only occasionally would we meet colleagues in the corridor, covered with masks, exchange a few words and close ourselves again in our respective rooms.
I returned to the project Half-half. The redesign of the toothbrush for 2020. Simon and I spent all our time together. I watched how we moved through the flat, trying to pass each other in the corridor, just large enough for one person, and how we spun around the rooms of our small flat. I imagined that we should be wearing sensors, like cats whose movements owners try to record, and that our path from the bathroom to the bed, from the sofa to the kitchen, to the end of the long garden and the furthest path, to the shop, could be traced. I imagined two lines intertwining in space, moments where they touch, moments where they diverge.
I try to define space. I sense when we become nervous, when we forget that the other is somewhere nearby, hidden in front of a screen with headphones, when we still seek time for shared activities. Through the flat’s window, I listen to the neighbours and to the situations unfolding behind closed doors as a result of forced togetherness. Unfortunately, not all stories are positive like ours. In Europe, during the first and second waves of lockdown, domestic violence in some countries rose to unimaginable proportions, while in Croatia, criticism emerged regarding the lack of information and, therefore, lack of support.
We are currently constructing a new studio. Within the same building, we are exchanging 60 m² for approximately 180 m². We are constructing smaller rooms on two floors and dividing the space. Between our newly built studios, we will put a wall: you play here, and I play here
OBJECT
I reflect on the redesign of the toothbrush for 2020. The toothbrush for two is an absurd object, created as a by-product of failed attempts to define space. The toothbrush is an intimate object that, when shared by two people, places them in a position of intimacy at a level we are often not prepared to accept. In this case, it becomes a symbol whose meaning lies in the relations between individuals, space, and culture.
The toothbrush, as a symbol, is nothing more than a tool that allows me to speak about seemingly abstract elements through a physical object. Its value lies in the symbolism and in the process, rather than in the finished, absurd product. I decided not to produce any of the models, but to present them exclusively digitally, in accordance with the current condition of gallery exhibitions.
In the previous production of works related to this project, I have dealt with the object and with the idea carried by the object. My interest lies in the definition of space and in the way we share and experience it. Through the redesign of this everyday object, I attempt to define spaces, relations, and movements.