The very first mask is the hands. They rise up forming a bowl, not to hold water, not to hold sand, but to hold the secret, that the face is not removed only concealed. In the darkness under the hands there is breath, there is warmth, there is the peculiar smell of self. Behind the mask of the hands, there is another stronger sense of animal self, of the self embodied in air and it is inexcusable.
The mask before the hands is the eyelids. They close the shutters and guard the frontier of the inside. The flickering of lights, of dreams and now you enter the multiple zones of the image. We drift in and out of planes of thought so easily, that it becomes second nature to close our eyes. For the night, for the darkness, for the trespasses we see, for the grim and the ugly and to allow the elevation of love and desire to take hold. For the mask does not only act as a shield, it is a cloud.
The cavity between the layers of the skin on the palms and the face mark the space that is me. I rest my fingertips on the forehead. At this moment I am holding the space for me. The eyes form the full stop before the next line is said. Choreographed, pulsing and synchronised a crack forms in the bowl, as I open my hands and see you. Flickering like a butterfly, the hands shift places with the face, which shift place with the hands and I invite you to be you.
Ninna Bohn Pedersen is an artist living and working in Copenhagen, DK.