Photo: Jenni Gästgivar
A loner melting in to their surroundings. Invisible for the one not knowing what to look for. Chopping wood out of pure enjoyment. Growing in the light. They have made it their world. Under covers they spend their week. Lingering in the threes they find each other. The rhythmic beating brings them together. The experience is one they can only have alone. Filtering through the foliage.
They call it work. They find a common rhythm. They work (it) out. They take time to do this. They wonder if it is pr-oduction. They know the rules. They say it’s violent. They find them selves in stagnation. They a- scape. They are not reveling what is invisible. They know their abilities. They call it a repetitive motion. They make the rules. They say it does matter what stories they tell.