kitchen garden on loamy clay soil. That is also largely a question of ordering things, lugging things and toiling; and doing things in the right order. But always with complete dedication. Otherwise, there’s no point.
I want to try to describe my territory. How all these things are apparently unrelated yet together they shape who I am. Part of that territory is very tangible. Paper, objects. Filed in cupboards and provided with stickers with the letters A to O. There are two more filing cabinets, five drawers altogether. And not to forget low cupboards numbered with Roman numerals I to VI. I also regard my computer as a cupboard. It has a sticker with the Z on it.
I maintain a database of all the files and archive boxes so that I can see at a glance which cupboard contains something. That is clear. But there are also cupboards with all my old diaries (in chronological order), notebooks and travel reports, all the picture postcards I ever received since my first birthday, dress patterns, spools of thread, colour slides and magic-lantern slides, scraps of paper in different colours, still functional zip fasteners and lots, lots more. And on top of the cupboards, there are occasionally boxes or chests with bags of sugar. Or piles of large envelopes containing files about subjects that for some reason seemed relevant to me. On the flap of the envelope, I write the subject with a felt pen. They are of course used envelopes. In my archive, they find a second life.
Why do I keep all this? I want to look into that. My latest film is about holding onto things, and letting go. Thoughts on this subject form my immaterial territory.