Artist Blog

Every week an artist whose single image was published by Der Greif is given a platform in which to blog about contemporary photography.


Jul 16, 2016 - Emma Bäcklund

mg src="" alt="01-Nocturnal" width="589" height="700" class="aligncenter size-large wp-image-68050" /> “Rocking is a matter of high and low and of right and left, of the great symmetries, and alternations that govern crystals, tides, seasons, the cycles of planets and their satellites, exchanges of oxygen and carbon dioxide, captures and releases, assimilations and evacuations, nervous systems, attractions and repulsions between metals, between fauna and flora, between sexes, between stellar masses, black holes, quarks, and infinitesimal jets of dust… It is a matter, to conclude or rather to begin, of the initial beat between something and nothing, between the world and the void, which also means between the world and itself.” - Jean-Luc Nancy I Sleep The night, the absence of light. Annulled of reality as such. It is not anything nor nothing. The point between forgetting and remembering. A passage of the cosmic rhythm, a collective pulsation. A passage into the day, a space without place. It is a private act, an act removed from anything that can be called an act. It is a state of being. Private while also exposed, powerless, innocent without exits, we sleep. ‘..the impossibility of death, the universality of existence even in its annihilation’. Closing and withdrawing to another level of living removed from placeness, here there is no exterior nor boundaries, no double, no alter ego. “I” does not exist, it is timeless and unaware of its own being in space. The night can be experienced as an escape or a confrontation of ones deepest fears and desires. A sleeper refuse to adapt, and neither to compromise; one is self contained within an un-focus and an un-self, drawing into the ego that is both familiar and obscure. One is not yet familiar with oneself and never will be, these are the parts of us one visits in sleep. The night is black but blackness in itself is not black. Once eyes become accustomed to the black colours can emerge, those of the rainbow. The rainbow cannot be visible for eyes unwilling to adapt to the darkest of blacks. It is a sinking process, passive but active where one processes day and separates oneself from it. The balance of night and day, similar to a pendulum swings us back and forth while resting in standstill. The point of pause, the momentum where it momentarily stops and reaches its highest point of suspension to reverse back again, and again, in an endless repetitious swing, an ongoing agitating motion. Nocturnal Thirst emerged from her lips, slightly open but impenetrable that which lived behind her eye lids were now foggy skies, soft silhouettes and fluffy clouds The lake was serene but underneath It lived with full force ‘Lived’, she thought, ‘does it mean to keep moving’? Her face looked like stone but the stillness kept spinning