Johanna Cedergren

I can feel it when I pull at the lump, that it already knows exactly where it will break, it wants to lie in a certain way.

It directs my attention to how I should nudge it right. If I let it stand completely unchallenged, everything falls apart. The lump has no need, or rather, does not want to be immortalized in anything. It responds first obediently, playfully revealing all its inherent curves, volumes, and directions, but when I release my grip, everything falls, hisses, and eventually becomes a dry pile of attempts. It wants to exist in waves, to be built up, to assume the impossible shapes of the world in one momentum, only to collapse under its own weight, and finally swell again.

The grip has melted together, it is the strongest point of support. They are fossils, drawn-out fossils. After having been pressed together for a long, long time under the earth, mud, several tons of sediment, in subterranean heat, they have turned into volcanic stone. In the end, the earth wall has cracked, sludge has spilled out, they have been washed up, floating to shore. The faces are peaceful, compact masks. The profiles face each other, leaning against the same invisible parallel line. All stone throughout.

Image: Johanna Cedergren