The Crossing
Kaapeli / Cable Factory Helsinki. 2002
In the early Winter dusk by the waters edge. One person-at-a-time participates in the performance. There is a table and two chairs. The viewer sits, looking out over the water. A strobe light is blinking and there is clay on the table. I take the other seat and on placing my hand on the table, fix it with clay. With my back to the scene I describe an experience to them. Each viewer will hear a similar but varying paragraph. I unwrap my hand from the clay. The viewer leaves when they are ready.
Look across the water to the island.
The light is dimming and the colours of the daytime are folding into one grey.
A torch is signaling; off, on off, on,
And somewhere a curlew pipes ‘teweet teweet teweet.’
When the ice has melted we will swim to the island.
We will coat ourselves in fat from the kitchen as protection from the cold and we will swim naked.
We will stagger out of the water and tread gingerly over the wet rocks.
There will be someone waiting at the other side with hot drinks and dry clothes.
Look across the water to the island.
The light is dimming and the colours of the daytime are folding into one grey.
A torch is signaling; off, on off, on,
And somewhere a curlew pipes ‘teweet teweet teweet.’
When the ice comes we will walk to the island.
We will attach small spikes of metal to the soles of our shoes in order to gain a better grip.
We will dress in thick coats and hats that have flaps to cover the ears.
There will be someone waiting with strong alcohol and wide arms.
Look across the water to the island..
The light is dimming and the colours of the daytime are folding into one grey.
A torch is signaling; off, on off, on,
And somewhere a curlew pipes ‘teweet teweet teweet.’
When the swell settles we will row to the island.
We will wear borrowed waterproofs with hoods that do not fit around the face and chafe our cheeks.
Our arms will ache so with the rowing that we will loose movement in our shoulders.
There will be someone waiting with a smoking sauna and candle lights.
Look across the water to the island.
The light is dimming and the colours of the daytime are folding into one grey.
A torch is signaling; off, on off, on,
And somewhere a curlew pipes ‘teweet teweet teweet.’
When the wind is high we will call across to the island.
We will carry cones of paper, or even metal, or even electrical megaphones.
We will wear mittens of sheepskin that become slick in the salt spray.
There will be someone waiting at the other side with a lost voice and steaming breath, ‘come back come back’.