This is a restricted area

Attending the Frictions Performance Festival in Uppsala I have the sensual experience of being in a boiler. To suffer in silence, and handle pain through withdrawal into inner stillness became my surrealistic credo some time ago. No real change occurs if you are not able to endure the pain of the body, which results from a lost balance. That is the hypothesis supporting this new attitude. And now I find myself challenging my habitual being in the midst of an artistic chaos. I am immersed in good Performance Art, and I find it repulsive, fascinating, beautiful, strong, chocking, as well as simply material, aesthetic, brilliant, technical, and ARTY.

So far the festival is an affair concerning only those invited or the most stubborn in the Art circles of Uppsala. This makes the atmosphere tight and filled with unspoken questions.

It's like breathing inside a plastic bag. Threatening to incarnated life the air gets hotter, as the concentration of bodily transpiration increases. But then, again, pathos has its place in border circumstances like these, and inspiration might follow from entrapment in an unresolvable conflict. (This last thought was formulated by Hegel in his aesthetic lectures).

So in the morning waking up I made my own performance in the kitchen. Dancing slowly I uttered the words: "This is a restricted area, don't enter unless You are paid to do so". As the dance goes on I start an oral intercourse with the green shoehorn, the whipping tool I have in my bag since yesterday. After a while I use my lips to vigorously embrace half a lemon, and starts whipping myself. The act concludes in a fake orgasm, and the following phrase ends the performance:

- This is a framed space.