Dinner at the 4th. Jose Alejandro Ramirez Gutierrez.

Dinner at the 4th.

Now I'm down on my hands and knees and it's so fucking hot! Someone cries, "What are you looking for? I scream, "The plot, the plot!"
Oh my Lord. Nick Cave and the bad seeds.

OOOOOO Writing in a collage form, writing with experimental touch and risk taking strategy or: writing as a collage. Some omissions, repetitions, contradictions were created and duplicated, as they were present in the work itself. Then, this writing, instead of being just a text assumes the form of a fragmented essay, but also the form of a journey that was registered taking into consideration the notes, memories, reflections and new connections that came up after completing some of the trips and experiments. OOOOO4 Im having dinner at the 4th. There are people talking loudly. Some faces are impossible to distinguish, however the sound of their voice strikes me like letters I can read. Other times the voices just become sounds that remind me of something I cannot fully identify. While holding a cup of coffee a whisper passes me by; I let it go. Is late at night but there is still sun in the venue. When I look through the window theres some snow in the floor. I see people walking and looking extremely busy. I decide that it is time to go. I walk. Another murmur reaches me. Knowing that Im extremely tired, and perhaps is going to be hard to understand the meaning of the word that I just heard, I write it down. Now Im watching an old movie. I remember the note. When I read it, it overlaps with the dialogue of the movie: If time becomes a place, then innumerable places are available the other- is an unusual thing to give someone elses card. For a moment I dont recognize whose words are resonating in my head, nevertheless thin strings, like a spider web, connect the former unconnected ideas together. How many people have used the same ideas and how many ideas have traveled the same people? Im back on my table at the diner. It seems like somebody refurnished the place or perhaps I have opened a different door. Outside is extremely dark and is very difficult to discern any shape. Again several noises float in the air, the music gets mixed with the voices that I recognize and with the smoke and the heat in the environment. Im waiting for someone. We decided to meet in this place because the bartender is usually friendly. It is

strange but it seems like this place changes every time I look. He arrives and points out how the new furniture makes it difficult to recognize that we are actually in the same place we have been before. We look around and start to name the objects that we remember from the last time we were here. Theres a calendar. I point a wall, then a chair, then something else. Strangely they become what we say they are, or at least thats what we thought. When we finally get bored, we start talking about a story we remembered from the last time we were in the place. Again, we tell the story; again he remembers it differently. We discuss it; we agree that it happened last week, probably on Monday or perhaps on Friday. We agree that we read the same newspaper; we agree that the event took place in the same spot. All the descriptions he makes seem from another time. He describes places that look different but at the same time are the same. We also assent that we are not imaging anything, its all real. We talk about it, we discuss it and finally after a long give and take we really dont know what to think about it. Then, we head home. In the street a light rain wets the floor. The facades make geometrical reflections as we walk through the mirror-fragmented parts of the city. I think about how those fragments have such a strong abstract quality. They make you think of different things than those that are actually being reflected. Sometimes they get mixed with the images of the windows and then combined they give the impression of a constellation being formed right there on the street. As we advance I wonder about time and about where should I go if time becomes like space. My friend tells me that a guy made a movie in which everything Im thinking about is said in a nice way. As well, he mentions how the movie title resembles the darken streets were walking in. Their lack of sun. I tell him that I agree. Next, we walk in silence. Later that night I dont recognize the streets anymore. Im alone. I stand still trying to see where am I. There is no rain falling anymore and the distant noise of a train gets mixed with the loud sounds of a television coming from a house nearby. All that is left is to keep walking. I imagine a device, a mental device that when it works every step that you make is a travel in time. Borges wrote: Perhaps the universal history is the history of the diverse intonation of a few metaphorsi. OOOOO8 A few weeks ago, while riding on a touristy boat in the hardboard of Rotterdam, I couldnt stop thinking about the immense and small cycles that surround us all. No matter if they are made-up or inevitable. From winter to summer, from little trips to the spinning of the planet, from the eternal present in soap operas to the immaterial money flows of the international commerce; impossible connections and dead-ends. Jorge Luis

Borgesii used the figure of an immense library in which all the possible knowledge of the universe was contained. He also quoted Pascal in order to explain the impossibility of complete understanding; the complexity of the world. Later Robert Smithsoniii used the same quote: Nature is an infinite sphere, whose center is everywhere and whose circumference is nowhereiv. When trying to understand the possible implications that transnational commerce and history can have, I imagined myself in one of the cubicles of Borges library. I wonder what kind of intonation do I have? In the cubicle in which I am standing, several people are having a cold drink while going in a white and blue boat. From this spot I can see containers filled with merchandise, that done by different hands, now become commodities. Just beside me I imagine the containers packed with the plastic pineapples filled with cocaine that arrived to The Rotterdam Port some months ago. Of the dozen cargo containers with illegal material that probably enter the port each day, only one container was caught. I imagine TVs, apples and cars filled with illegal substances moving through the world. I also imagine the people who made the drugs in a warm jungle in the middle of nowhere, and then someone sniffing coke in a toilet in Amsterdam; one cycle. How can these two persons, connected by merchandise, understand each other, if their realities are so different that language stops working as in a short-circuit. We could also follow other facts of the cycle, the possibilities are infinite as infinite are its repetitions, regressus in infinitum. Facing such a scenario one could only think of Borges quotation later used by Smithson and now used by me or someone else. A chain of people riding the same idea, facing the same paradox: we are lost in the library filled with labyrinths of words and stairs that point in every direction. In the library, every glance becomes a connection and a plot in which all elements organize each other, so infinite variations are possible. They gain significance according to their position. I speculate on how these mental constructions would look like in the physical world; are they out there? We create the plots, mental projections and artifices in which history introduces little variations in order to make old things or events look new. The cycles are there embedded in our consciousness of nature; they are part of how we understand the world. Also they can function as a control mechanism as in the Maya calendar where a complicated construction with which a priestly elite in effect controlled what the populace did, thought and felt on any given daycreating a pre-ordained cyclical empire-time run by temporal mastersv. Where is our modern Maya calendar? What kind of temporal master can be found in our times? What kind of temporal perception do we have? Perhaps too complicated questions, and too complicated answers.

Are there big differences when one looks at the immense picture of international commerce from the XV century to now? Can we compare the commerce of illegal substances with the first economical exchange that cross the ocean or with other cycles? At the end the real importance is not located in the objects. As words, legality becomes a movable entity. The money produced could become the real connection, the keystone, nevertheless is not the part of the story that interest me. From history books to the instant CNN productions of truth, somebody else writes our memory. However, I have the impression that something has gone wrong during this process. My round trip in the Rotterdam hardboard is soon to be over. The people next to me take pictures; I take pictures too. The voice on the megaphone follows: the port has being used as a connection node for more that six centuries. While thinking about what I just heard, I cant avoid to imagine traveling on a vessel. The vessel moves in a straight line, then I remember: the universe is finite but unlimited (I probably heard that line in a movie which title I cant remember). It goes perfectly while being over imposed to Pascals quote. The imaginary vessel keeps along with its journey, never finding an obstacle. If it is true that the universe is finite but unlimited then at some point we will have to repeat our journey. And even tough the journey is different, we will have the uncanny feeling that history had repeated it self: a relentless and everlasting dj vu, a neurotic state of constant present. Just like in horror zombie movies when at the end we see a hand rising from the ground, we know that the same story will be made again; the sequel already on its wayvi. After a 75 minutes ride we arrive at the docks of the boat company. The sun is up in the sky making the pavement so hot that some vapors are creating funny shifting shapes in the distance. We have a train to catch. We walk fast. I took 42 pictures while being in the boat; 42 samples from my imaginary journey. OOOOO12 Place: Amsterdam central. Coordinates: Latitude: N 52 22' 42" Longitude E 4 54' 5. Time: 13:00 PM, June 27, 2010. Temperature: Aprox. 27 Celsius. In the film Sans Soleilvii Christ Marker pointed out how in the 19th century men came to terms with space; the question of the 20th century is the coexistence of several concepts of time. I would adventure to suggest that we havent come to terms with neither of those definitions. Time disrupts space and vice versa, and those intervals affect our capacity to

define concepts and events, to communicate. I wonder what kind of consequences this affirmation would have if we take in to consideration such an strong affirmation like the following: Time probably appears to us only as one of the various distributive operations that are possible for the elements that are spread out in spaceviii, the quote was take from a conference given by Foucault in 1967. Borges also wrote extensively on the subject: memory, time and space; he also wrote in his prologue for the note Nueva refutacin del tiempoix: is the anachronism reduction ad absurdum of an old system, or worse, the weak artifice of an Argentinean lost in the metaphysics. Robert Smithson admires and used as inspiration how Borges liked obsolete philosophic systems; they liked the aesthetic value of those elaborations. Im trying to create a work that uses abstract cocepts as a way to read life but also the reverse operation. For me, time is more than a distribute operation, nevertheless for now; the second conclusion of Borges suits better my needs. The trains goes at 125 Km per hour. We are checking the train schedule. The Journey will end up in 45 minutes at Rotterdam Central. Due to some unexpected delay it will take an additional 25 minutes to get to the first destination. I have prepared a set of questions to ask randomly to the people traveling in the train. The experiment begins. The train advances as we walk through the corridors looking for people willing to talk to the recording machine. My friend gives some context to the potential subjects of the interview. We start with a score, a little set of instructions and information that we all share. We had previously agreed on a specific version of the story. We ask people to talk about it. From that point they have to improvise, so do we. The goal is to ask persons to recreate the last days of an imaginary character that has strangely disappeared while following some information regarding a container filled with illegal merchandise. The other goal is to create a lifestoryx for a non-existing-fictional character, make him alive though documentation and speculation. Hopefully we will also created a workstoryxi that will contain the fictional life-storyxii. As different people answer the different questions, the one that leave an impression in my mind is: Who is he/she? As the train gets closer to its destination the responses change. Now we have two different searches that depend on each other. On the one hand, someone is looking for information about drug trafficking; on the other hand we are creating in the present an imaginary journey performed by a fictional character that is located in the past. Hopefully, both will create an expectation that will lead to nothing. While writing this text I looked at my notebook and I found the following phrase: We shape clay into a pot, but is the emptiness inside that holds whatever we want. I could not find who originally came up with such an idea, but for some reason it fits the experiment. In quantum mechanics

the more we know about the speed of a particle the less we know in an accurate way about its location: Is asking like measuring? Finally, the train arrives at Rotterdam. We have gathered several interviews; they will work as instructions in order to reconstruct the story. We get our backpacks and look for the way out. The station is under construction, is getting really hot. Place: Rotterdam central. Coordinates: Latitude N 51 55' 29 Longitude E 4 28' 8. Time: 14:27 PM, June 27, 2010. Temperature: Aprox. 28 Celsi us. OOOOO14 The quotation is disguise at its most efficient and perhaps at its most extreme. Quotation, more over, offers one of the great advantages of disguise: license to express one self in terms other guise impossiblexiii Sherry Levine. OOOOO15 People in the train defined the character. A subject was made from the reflections of the passengers and what they think of him/her. A plot created before hand is dissimulating a story already written: a television thriller or a soap opera character that dies and resurrects as the audience rating lowers. A character whose leading role does not develop, but instead gets blurred by the multiple identities and narratives that construct upon nothing. On the way back I pretended to be the journalist, not knowing that Im soon would be lost while trying to find. Sometimes Im a hero, sometimes I got companions, once I became a girl, and another time I got trapped inside a container and nobody knew that I was in there. Nobody could help me. I went to Marcella and to a Hells Angels bar in Amsterdam. I replace the fable and converted into a multicephalos plot of banalities. Two weeks after I wrote the last sentence I found the following: He search for banalities // their hidden meaning and quality; these small moments and unforeseen passages can be connected with the grand history of the worldxiv. The train enters a tunnel; I didnt remember any tunnel before so I realized I took the wrong line and end up in the airport. As I think of the different identities that the journalist adopted in every interview you make me giddy comes to my mind. When time ceases to be linear then infinite times are possible, I walk time supporting myself on the ideas of other people. OOOOOOO11 The train has left a trace that could be copy on paper. Later that night I follow it, I draw it. While looking at it, I think that is actually not that interesting, then I exaggerate the ellipses that the train painted in the

ground. Realism is as illusive as fiction. The only advantage with fiction is that it doesnt claim to have any truth. OOOOOOO17 Some days latter Im reading the transcripts of the interviews. From them Im creating a structure with circular time, made of little samples of speculation related to a short event found in a newspaper. While doing it I am thinking about cycles, time, space, repetition, communication and chance. The cycle of illegal commerce, related to a cycle of a train, related to a cycle of storytelling made out by the people we cross in our journey. Perhaps mirror cycles. In this circular time the rounded shape was deformed, now it looks like an ellipse; a dynamic ellipse is a loop that never repeat it self. Im sitting in a sofa listening to the interviews in a language I dont understand. Then I read the translations of the interviews. The answers that were recorded make me think of an unfinished plot that could in fact belong to any movie. I write the scrip following the instructions that we collected as samples, as found concepts. My new script for the film misses the point; it becomes an action movie, a suspense movie and a thriller. So, I follow my script, I follow the plot, I adapt the idea, I enact the character and I repeat it until it becomes a mantra, a spell. A sick joke for an impossible scenario yet happening every day regardless of what we do, an oxymoron. Again, suspense leading to nothing, suspense that doesnt provide any relive. OOOOOO19 Extreme slow motion Morse code Signal erased by the sunlight Noise in the screen: the distance Communication that does not communicate Lollipop and hot liquid air. June 25, 2010. OOOOOO20 When I wake, Im in a little airplane over a vastness of green and yellow shapes. Sometimes through the tinny windows small lines like slim snakes reflects the sky. The plane makes a violent drift and out of nothing a little landing strip appears. The plane lands, the year is 2002. We are a team of filmmakers gathering material for a video about the success of the Plan Colombia. The camera man ask peasants about how are they replacing coca plants for other legitimate crops. They timidly laugh; they are uncomfortable in front of the camera. Cameras are tricky;

they record the world as it is, but for some reason the world gets transformed while being recorded, it gets duplicated. Cameras are indifferent mechanical eyesxv. However we use them to produce different fictions, different degrees of the true. Later that night. I sit in the sidewalk observing the persons passing by in front of me. They flow as a torrent of water around the principal square, again and again. Every time I look is different. I stay there until the sounds of the bugs become the only thing that can be heard. I stand up and think: if time is a mental process, how can it be shared by thousands of people, even two different menxvi? I remember that Borges wrote that though about it 64 years ago. Through the window on the right a toy airplane lies on the frame of the window, in the background a boat advances shaking the water in the canal. Im in my studio in Utrecht; the date is July 16, 2010. Two weeks after we left, one of the major laboratories for processing Cocaine was found 5 minutes walk from the place in which we were making interviews. The testimonies taken from the people in the little villa in Colombia, said that after the eradication of all the coca plants the region was heading for a time of growth and prosperity. The government hired us. Left wing guerrillas or right wing mercenaries protected the laboratory. Happy ending. Hollywood like, and soap opera. The illusion of development; almost there. Certain regions of the world allow themselves enormous amounts of cynicism and contradictions at opened air, others seem to have other subtle mechanisms full of the same cynicism and contradiction. How do they talk to each other? Again, follow the money, but since those flows are not interesting me at the moment, I decide to follow some one else. In the final sequence of Vertigo (1958) Scottie, after revealing the complot that was upon him is unable to change the destiny that will make fall Judith Barn that was Carlota Valdez that perhaps was someone else. Another ellipse that does not repeat itself, in a different guise every time. Suspense leading to nothing. Chris Marker re-enact a segment of Hitchcocks Vertigo in the video essay Sans Soleil (1983). Latter Magnus Bartas re-enact the re-enactment of Chris Marker. In 1993 Douglas Gordon produce 24 hours Psycho, Gordon made Psycho last 24 hours without altering anything else. What is behind this network of repetitions? I have some clues found on a text written by Sven Luttiquen and that is related (among other films) to a movie directed by Gus Van Sant, another re-make of Hitchcocks Psycho: For precisely by following Hitchcocks film in a way that could be seen as a ritual repetition of a historical model, he posses the question of its specify that is, its peculiar combination of relevance and obsolescence xvii. Also latter in Luttiquens article: If apparent newness can disguise repetition, a literal repetition can

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produce differencexviii. In the video that Im producing I explore notions of repetition, ellipses and cycles, but also multiple identities, enactments and writing. Since the total implications of the work are ahead my grasp, I leave empty chapters in this text that perhaps will be fill latter. At this stage the notion of Post-constructionxix of a work-story comes to play a role in the process. This research is an open process with multiple stages; the video that is being done is just one of the possible out puts that the research could have; perhaps in some months a video essay with more elements will arise. Perhaps an investigation related to flows of money and desire will be added. Nevertheless, the present text is an update that tries to make some sense of the elements that were put into play; it will have constant revisions that possibly will also adopt the form of different investigations. We walk time, we experience time, but time is a really difficult concept to define. My attempt is not to define time or space, or change and repetition, since the study of metaphysics have tried to do it for centuries; I would like to use these old and new systems of knowledge as inspiration, as tools for reflection. This little theory is tentative and could be abandoned at any time. Theories like things are also abandoned. That theories are eternal is doubtful.xx. OOOOOO20-2 In a flash-forward, coming back to the interviews and the airplanes flying over the jungle, some un-material structure is being formed. I didnt know back then, but I started to be aware of it now. I repeat what I did several years ago giving the repetition a new spirit, a new location and a different sense. Chris Marker used a technique he calls pilgrimage for the construction of his film Sans Soleil, this technique is then used by Barthas for the construction of his own pieces and as homage to Marker. According to the dictionary pilgrimage is a journey to a place associated with someone or something well known or respected. I am a pilgrim thought places and ideas that I respect and enjoy. I use memory and my self to surf all the concepts that interest me. Pilgrimage is usually used to purify the spirit, as meditation, as a tool for reflection. With out me intervening, the plot becomes a tragedy, a dead end, an action movie, a Hallmark classic, any movie. I stop. For some reason I star to like things that are left un-said.

OOOOOOO21 We have flashlights and we light the structure, we can only see small parts; my flashlight is small and because of the darkness I get bedazzled quite easily by what I see; again the library. The initial feeling of dizziness is

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being replaced by a feeling of neutrality. The only way is to keep walking. I will not judge, I will not to define; nevertheless in every single word I judge and define, then neutrality must be another illusion. OOOOOOO23 I construct my score. I follow my score. They improvise. We improvise. It makes me spin around Holland. I will reduce it to its minimal. Ill make a movie made out of stills. Fragmented stills and disorganized order. Ill use peoples voices. They talk to the recording machine; to the sampling machine that creates this specific sound text. Borges wrote, that Carlyle observed, that the universal history is a infinite sacred book in which all men write and read and try to understand, and also are being written. Borges understood something that I barely see; also, I havent read anything of Carlyle so far. So, I went to the trains to see if it was measurable. If I could took a sample out of it; of the paramount flow. They wrote a part of my lifexxi. It was in another language, and since it was, the analogy goes beyond the literal meaning. I got lost in the train system. I got lost in the idea; I liked it. I got multiple answers. I enact multiple characters. I acknowledge my lack of deepness, my excess of sources, the need to keep goingxxii. The inability of making sense of the initial idea related to commerce and the possibility of art reflecting on politics, but also my need to keep on trying. My attempt to make sense of a cargo full of cocaine got confused, but in a way it got improved. So I leave my studio open to let the mess be, the date 26 August 2010. Then, I think about Robert Smithson and the moment in which he came to terms with historyxxiii, and I dont really know what to say about it. I agree, the most demanding task in our time is come to terms with space; so let time be our personal unit of confusion. OOOOOOO24 -I whish. -I want. -I dont know. -I sit down. -I stand up.

OOOOOOO25 A work-story is a concept related to narratives associated to a work of art. I try to create a work-story make of the life-story of a non-existing character, link together by a score. The text created begins to disappear; all thats lefts

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are the quotes, exquisite cadaver, Frankenstein, collage, ugly mixture, reallife and so on. My existence gets mixed and confused with the narrative I create. Why am I doing that? If history is a nightmare written by few, I tried to record a dream like narrative written by many, a plural messxxiv. Starting from a newspaper cut, that was life, that now is binary code, that will become an essay and a film: ambivalent, almost not a film, but a room, a projection devise, a mirror, a cubicle, a physical presence. When the footnotes erase and blur the text, then another kind of text takes control; the authorxxv apparently disappears fade away, but is there by hiding, in disguise, in absence. From news reports to a movie plot the hero emerges from the testimonies. In response, I replace it with cycles, with a distorted reflection, with a presence that is not totally there, with my impossibility of an answer, with a room full of notes, full of questions. A question mark replaces the plot. Theres no ending and no need to. I doubt if I should remove Nick Cave quote at the beginning of this note. that is how history advances plugging its memories while unplugging ones ears. Sans Soleil. OOOOOOO26 The text is no more a commentary for the images than the images are illustration for the text. They are two different series of sequences that inevitably cross each other and interact now and then. But it would be pointless and tiring to have one confront to the other.xxvi Chris Marker. Im in the editing room. I have an enormous amount of samples. How to organize them? How to disorganize them? How to create a cycle, a dynamic ellipse, a text that repeats it self? I took pictures of movies, I photograph the screen and the TV set not knowing if I was going to use them. The soundtrack invades the space in the studio. All I can think of is the months that took me to be in this room full of material to make a moving picture. Of all the activities that in one way or another brought me to this point. Something else has change. I decide to go on the station, again to the trains, just holding the camera; the more pictures the better, the more pictures out of the time-line the better; what is left out in the editing room, what we dont see, unsaid. I tried to look for the exact framing from the movie I watched, from the movie they told me. Then I click. Somebody said that memory is the possibility of forgetting.

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The audiovisual text starts all over, again and again. Two different frames, a little difference, hold it, delay it, and it becomes different. Borges wrote at the end of his book Otras inquisiciones that perhaps the history of human kind was just the sum a few metaphors.

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Additional Material. Drawings, notes and paper cut-offs.

Paper cut-off from Trouw (Amsterdam newspaper). January 10, 2010.

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Drawing from the projects notebook.

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Drawing from the projects notebook.

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Drawing and notes from the projects notebook.

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Bibliography.
i

Jorge Luis Borges, Otras Inquisiciones, La esfera de pascal, P 17. 1960. Jorge Luis Borges, The Garden of Forking Paths, The library of Babel. iii Roberth Smithson, The collect writings, Entrophy and the new monuments. P 10. 1966. iv Jorge Luis Borges, Otras Inquisiciones, La esfera de pascal, P 17. 1960. v Sven Luttiquen, The Planet of Re-makes. vi Ibid. vii Chris Marker, Sans Solei. DVD. 1983. viii Michel Foucault. Of Other Spaces, Heterotopias. 1967. ix Jorge Luis Borges, Otras Inquisiciones, Nueva Refutacin del Tiempo. P 235. 1960. x Magnus Brtas, You Told Me, PAG 52. 2009. xi Magnus Brtas, You Told Me, PAG 45. 2009. xii Magnus Brtas, You Told Me, PAG 52. 2009. xiii Sherry Levine, The picture generation. P 52. 2009. xiv xiv Magnus Brtas, You Told Me, PAG 90. 2009. xv Roberth Smithson, The collect writings, Entropy and the new monuments. P 373. 1966. xvi Jorge Luis Borges, Otras Inquisiciones, Nueva refutacin del timepo. P 243. 1960. xvii Sven Luttiquen, The Planet of Re-makes. xviii Ibid. xix Magnus Brtas, You Told Me, PAG 58. 2009. xx Roberth Smithson, The collect writings, Provisional Theory of non-sites P374. 1968. xxi Mika Hannula, Politics identity and public space, P 75. 2009. xxii Ibid.
ii xxiv xxv

Mika Hannula, Politics identity and public space, P 75. 2009. I have not read the dead of the author by Foucault, yet. xxvi Magnus Brtas, You Told Me, PAG 81. 2009. Additional bibliography: Boris Groys, Art of power. 2008. Nicolas Bourriaud, The Radicant. 2009. Sarat Maharaj, Unfinishable Sketch of an unknown object in 4D:Scenes of Artistic Research. Jacques Derrida, Positions. 1972. Italo Calvino, Las ciudades invisibles. 1972. Craight Owens, The allegorical impulse. October, Vol. 13. (Summer, 1980). Rosalind E. Krauss, A Voyage on the North Sea: Art in the Age of the PostMedium Condition. 2000. Questioning History, Imaging the past in Contemporary Art. Additional Films and videos. Sans Solei. (Sunless). Chris Market. 1983. Kumiko, Johnnie Walker & The cute. Magnus Bartas. 2007.

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Madame & Little Boy. 2009, Vertigo. Alfred Hitchcock. 1958. Psycho. Alfred Hitchcock. 1960. Solaris. Andrei Tarkovsky. 1958 Solaris. Steven Soderbergh. 2002. Early films of Peter Greenaway. (1973-1978).

Additional music. Oh my Lord. Nick Cave and the bad seeds. No more shall we part. 2001.

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Acknowledgment: Special thanks to Tiong Ang, Annette W. Balkema, Mika Hannula, Klaas Hoek, Lisa May Post and Henk Slager for their help, guidance and support. Thanks to Jessica de Schipper and to all the tutors and lectures. Special thanks to Engelien Boven for going to the trains to ask people about a guy she never met. Thanks to Manuel Borda for all the help creating the sound track for the video. Thanks to Natalia Sanchez and my family. Also thanks to all the classmates, good luck to you all.

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