MUS MUSCULUS MALUS
There are palpable rumblings in this mind.
Rattling bridges between what has been, exists today and could be.
A heritage. Northern Norway. Bodø. Barren climes, endless winters hunting for the light, fleeting summers underneath a pale sun. A growing of age in the early 1980‘s silent villages that fostered juvenile escapism. Youthful curiosity has remained in this mind; it never dwelled far out of sight.
A journey. My visual narrative maintained, challenged, explored over years as a costumier for film, theatre and dutiful subject inside art photography. To me, this is a language I have appropriated. Telling ‘historically’ poised stories that are rich in heartfelt sentiment transported from the lurking dark shadows. It is this balance between what terrifies us and enlightens us, that triggers me. From costume, to movement, cognitive stance to holistic expression.
A story. From childhoods spin vivid memories. Mice as protagonists, uncanny, noir, sacred and irrevocably human-like. This work is a salute to them. Each diorama an emotive tableau of historic reflection with a slight nod to the darker side of life. This often overlooked mammal transformed into a sage story-teller that cheekily enacts societal sceneries.
A medium. There is something about our hands and their capacity to create. These sculptures are crafted entirely from scratch in polymer clay. Every detail is meticulously developed, from garments, skin, microscopic accessories, furnishings, scenography and technical construction. Every deliberate detail arises after months of research, vintage hunting, antique harvesting, theatrical staging and a lengthy process of trial & error.
At its helm, a single pair of diligent poetic hands.
In this mind. Of this world. This is an open call to unequivocally rekindle our unadulterated sense of wonder. Hunt down you worse fears and overcome them. Nothing stands in your way, but the curious universe my mice inhabit. Peek inside their microcosm and simply let them lead the way, from darkness into light and back again.
Rumblings, rattling these cages; a harmonious marching band of mice united in benign noir.