SIBILLE SCHMIDT SHORT STORY ACCOMPANYING WITH SHOW AT DALI GALLERIE, AKUREYRI, ICELAND
“I never know what’s suppressed and what is just to be forgotten!”Rohkost
Gurken/ Gurkensalat
P2 wohnen
Dauerwelle kastanienbraun
Zahnschmerzen im Eigenheim,
introvertiertes Vogelhaus
Zu viele Vogelhaeuser in den Baeumen
Sauerkraut mit Schweinebraten
Tomatensalattomatensalato...
Wandschrank des VEB Hellerau
Oma lass uns schaukeln !
who is she?
She was working on the creation of a fictive character never to be reality. It was here faith and fear on a future being of her self.
Here fictive character was rising out of a combination of different ideals and the longing for the lost object of identification.
Only through the loss of here past the past could become object of identification and feat here nostalgia. By consciously constructing here nostalgia she found a way to finally transform those past experiences into a fiction.
Sibille was refusing to mourn the loss of here love to be a mother and housewife. She got on her swing. She remained in an upside down hanging position slightly swinging back and forth. She enjoyed the dazzling numbness of this position and sensed the emptiness in here breast and forgetfulness of her desires with a big relief. Her eye's where half open and her gaze broken.
She aloud herself to some daydreams and thought of some sensations her life hade given to her:
‘When she was twelve she couldn’t do anything with here body; she couldn’t even swim or ride a bicycle. In this state attending here first dancing lesson she felt as awkward and self-conscious as the day she had tried to show off here charms in the role of a Spanish dancer. But she began to detest dancing lessons, but for another reason. When here partner held her in his arms and held her to his chest, she felt a funny sensation that was rather then having butterflies in the stomach, but which she didn’t find so easy to forget. When she got back home, she would throw herself in the leather armchair, overpowered by curious languor that she couldn’t put a name to and that made her want to burst into tears.
She did not know weather there was a certain amount of self-deception in here ingenuousness: whatever it was, sexually frightened here. She lived no open reference to bodily functions and no untoward physical act was allowed to tear aside the veil drawn over sex by custom and convention.
On the pretext that she hade too much work, she gave up going to the dancing lessons.’
A sudden stroke of pain in her head let here stop dreaming and brought here back to the present staid she was in. The position got uncomfortable and something was tickling here left toe. She hade to move and do something!
Work was always there even if nobody was waiting in fact. But most of the time she was just enjoying the relaxing staid of emotionless swinging in space. She thought it would be completely up to here to start something or to leave it.
But this fly on here toe was interrupting here comfortable position and nothing could help:
A big crash and her ass set on the ground.
All furniture and ceramics were cracking by here furious screaming while lumbering through the rooms of here flat.
She was out of here mind not willing to accept the walls of her apartment.
Once she got exhausted things found there order faster then a spectator could have recognised in its normal sense of movement. Dishes got back into their place, furniture was moved into its old position and all broken lampshades replaced. All this in such a short time somebody could hardly realize what had happened.
Sibille was walking around reading, writing doing the dishes...living in here summer residence. It was a one stored stone cottage with three rooms, all quite small but in a certain way designed. The kitchen had its character by the choice of red curtains, red painted kitchen units and the white in red dotted dishes. Through a small but adequate hole way the other rooms could be attained effortless. The two bedrooms were simply furnished with one bed each, a little table, reading lamp and a kind of cupboard for clothe. A big auburn wall closet of VEB Hellerau dominated the living room; to fit with the rest the couch and armchair were upholstered with light beige cotton.
Sibille had spend fife long summers in those rooms, always relaxing from here hard work as an administrative officer of the woman magazine for fashion and culture. The work was fulfilling but exhausting enough to spend the whole summer without thinking of fashion and culture. She was enjoying her very own life here in her summer cottage.
She was living there since she hade split up with her husband. There vulnerable relationship had never been happy and the only thing they really were saving and waiting for was the big chestnut-braun wall closet coming in three parts. It was a beautiful peace and with the most contemporary design. Relating to the Bauhaus functionality it was bringing back some of the old civically ideals of middle class life.
In the middle part a slidable glass door was included to cover up some shelves sparsely populated with glass figures and small ceramics. Sibille kept her presents there nicely presented and protected of dust.
She was not as tiny at all but in fact these glass shelves were the most precious she could think of. It just was hurding her to be still so attracted to clean these shelves every day of dust even if there was none.
She was keeping herself together? Her life was hers and she did not have to share it anymore with anybody. Her independence was complete and happiness was what she thought to be feeling. She went swimming every morning in the closely lake and neighbours were coming over from time to time to have a meal together. They were all quite smart but didn’t interest her too much. Of course boredom was part of her summer time. Nothing was missing; she had everything and especially her own life.
Friends came over and they had parties in her cottage and from time to time there was a couple days love affaire. When it was over she got herself in order again and started with her everyday routine. It was helping her to forget the irritations of those excessive nights.
She enjoyed seeing the days passing by doing the everyday things without any pressure or stress. But then boredom would return and despair.
She ones again confessed to herself, that she wanted to live her life to the full; she desired to find more than a drug in the activities of daily life.
But on the other hand her need for those signs of time passing by and the repetitive activities of the everyday was existential for her. It made here feel to float through time and space without any destruction or interruption. The sedate temper she was in through those times made her smile and without fear of anything.