The rain had miraculously stopped by this morning and with a slight hesitation the sun came out and the most beautiful blue of the sparkling sky took over. After much preparation, labor, and planning (frustration, as well, over small logistical issues) I could finally begin the last phase of my Bornholm project. Unlike my work in general, this project happens in the public space, it is performative, it is meant to be soliciting some kind of an action, but I'm still having a hard time to categorize it as "public art", "intervention", or even as "interactive".
Here is where it comes from: ever since starting to plan for the residency I've been intrigued by the history of this island, especially because of clay plays such a crucial role in shaping both its past, as well as its present (see previous posts). It only made sense to create sculptural work that would not be transported home but would function (and only make sense) here on Bornholm.
Again, first I had to come up with the shape that makes sense for the location. During my wanderings, I'd been looking for some kind of a marker or object typical to the island. Pretty soon I would find returning shapes and proportions in the markers of paths (usually a round piece of wood cut with a slanted top), in stone kilometer markers (blocks of granite with rounded tops); and in he houses themselves (squat little buildings with steep red tile roofs). All my brown stoneware clay was turned into roughly shaped blocks, tops cut in a 45 degree angle, with a little storage compartment dug into the top. Textured to resemble dry earth, the blocks were air dried but not fired. They were left unfired because I would like them to be eroding, melting back into the earth under the plentiful autumn rains. 
This symbolic gesture is a metaphor for replenishing the clay that used to be mined everywhere around the island and was the most important resource. Not that I carefully plotted out every aspect of this metaphor in my mind beforehand, but when I think it through now, it's also an interesting analogy with what the local friends have been telling me so many times: how much the island needs an influx of new ideas, people, and resources coming from outside to refresh and reinvigorate what is native to here. And this is also true of my clay: what makes up my little sculptures is clay imported from some other place in the world. Inside compartment of each clay block is a little porcelain sculpture (a mini-version of the large porcelain stick constructions I've been working with here - see earlier post). It is fired but due to the form's tremendous fragility, I don't trust that it would survive unbroken very long. 
Unceasing high winds, wild animals, traffic, - anything could easily smash each to little pieces. Or, and this is the desired outcome: they could be "adopted" by users of the trails, nearby property owners, and passersby. (Although, I have to note here, that this scenario may be unlikely. Bornholm is a place where nobody locks their bikes, cars, or doors; things are not being taken, property of others is respected. People have lent me all kind of valuable equipment without the slightest hesitation.)The rough block of clay is like a little armchair-pedestal for the porcelain structure to sit on. When a fellow resident artist, Xavier, saw the pieces put together for the first time, he exclaimed: "beautiful! ...the strong holding the weak!" - Hmm... Funny, I've never consciously thought about it that way! For me, each object is both fragile, impermanent, as well as resilient; but both have these qualities in different ways.
OK. So, I made 79 of these (400kg of clay) and I've planned for a long time to take them by bicycle on the trails in three different directions starting from Nexo: one to the south, to the historic stone embankments and to the beaches; one to the north, along the rocky shores, making a loop on my way back through the farmlands; and the last one to the west, inland direction (along a trail parallel with the route between the two major towns, also farmlands). Today, I did the first two trips. Each trip transports almost three times of my own weight in clay. For this, I had to have a special vehicle: the Christiania people have been making a cargo bike (technically a tricycle) since the '70s when they took over a part of Copenhagen, banished cars, and set up a unique socio-economical structure for themselves. I needed a Christiania bike! The company was happy to offer to lend me one for this project. For various logistical reasons, at the end I did not take that but borrowed a Christiania bike from Bright Green Island (sustainable energy solutions organization in Nexo). 
After some rebranding (new signs fabricated from garbage bag plastic and traded masking tape), I took my lovely green bike on rides! Even though this kind of a transport vehicle is not uncommon here, it's much desired as it is quite pricey ("a Hummer of bikes?"). My sexy, shiny, bright green, boxy three-wheeler provoked some looks along the way. This baby is beautiful! And it goes very-very slow for a bike (very much like the pace I used to run with)!!! ...and it made my knees sore from pushing the pedals with all that weight all day long!!!Along the way (it must have been 3-4 hours each trip) I kept thinking why I needed to do this project, as I never for a minute thought that the real reasons are the ones mentioned above (...There is a difference between inspiration for creating and motivation to sustain through the making of a project).
And this motivation all goes back to running... and looking. Running provides a pace with which I can move through spaces and observe them. I tend to look at details. One might say I'm very observant of my environment. This is a mapping project in which I place markers at places where I'm looking, where I'm thinking that you should be looking and observing too. It's like google earth gone real!All one needs to do is to follow the trail.
All one needs to do is to slow down enough... to see.
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