Maren Kames

I am surrendered to the white, as the white is surrendered to me. Here I am exposed to fear; here, fear is exposed.

A self finds itself, on »Sunday morning, half past seven, on the shores with the great crested grebes«. From here, a landscape is surveyed, whose contours only become clear through speaking and walking. Like floes, texts emerge from the whiteness. They...

»If that's all there is, I’m moving out!« someone yells and heads off in their seven-league boots and their travel socks. A hare in the back seat. We travel straight through time, through the ages, and out into pitch-dark outer space. In a hand-drawn plane through the sky and through memories: of two grandmothers, one pale, one dark, one in-tact, one damaged. A grandfather and his furrowed hands....