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fungi C002, 2019, Archival inkjet print with thermochromic paint 27°C, framed in steel with wooden finish, 30 x 40 cm, Unique



In the autumn of 2019 I photographed fungi in Dudenpark, Brussels. Fungi are the oldest living species on our planet. They build and spread their communities across human borders, continents, laws ... They take over land without asking permission. They clean up toxic messes in disturbed landscapes and shake the land back to life to create livable grounds for animals, plants and maybe humans. They have the power to transport energy between weaker and stronger trees, to keep forests alive or to kill them. Their spores are invisible and spread and spread and spread. “The uncontrolled lives of mushrooms are a gift — and a guide — when the controlled world we thought we had fails.”


(Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing, ‘The Mushroom at the End of the World, On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins’, Princeton University Press, 2015)


The project consists of an installation and a publication. The accrochage shows a number of blow-ups of marcro-photographed fungi. The prints will appear and disappear according to the temperature in the room. Two heating systems are installed under the works to provide change. By a timing system the heaters will go on and off. The viewer will not be able to control what he sees. Each hour the images will be different showing and hiding parts of the work. The (un) natural process of appearance is accompanied by the responsibility, care and patience of the spectator.

fungi B005, 2019, Archival inkjet print with thermochromic paint 27°C, framed in black steel 30 x 40 cm, Unique

fungi B004, 2019, Archival inkjet print with thermochromic paint 27°C, framed in black steel 30 x 40 cm, Unique

installation with 2 electric heatingsystems, Poppositions critical artfair, Tour à Plomb, Brussels, april 2019

look look around where have you landed a place where everything points down pulls down all arrows point down down to the earth the soil is wet the leaves are wet and rotting smoke rises from the ground humans are gone not entirely not gone gone but reduced in number significantly there used to be so many spread out swarms covering the entire earth the earth like caught in a web like cast in iron like entered on all sides like sucked at like swallowed there’s chunks of cigarette butts and flushes of vomit strains of plastic corrosive liquids dripping from sources where once there used to be streams of drinkable water reminders non-nostalgic reminders of what’s gone the places where they lived and fucked and slept and ate their pace their time their self they’re gone wiped out swept away gone a few traumatized survivors pushed to the edges of the world hiding in the tropical pockets of the globe strange sounds come from their hide-outs they’re training their tongues clicking and slushing they’re taking integration courses forced to speak languages that are not theirs the pace of the place is not theirs not anymore it’s replaced by the pace of snails of snakes of worms and moss and mushrooms hybrid pioneers moving through wet land wet leaves without eyes blindly moving with their skins, with their tongues, with tentacles, tiny hooks and suction pads instead of feet the sound of birds birds dropping from the trees falling on the ground like raindrops time speeds up so fast you cannot keep track their bodies shrink and get wrapped up in grass wrapped up in leaves eaten up swallowed sucked into the ground seedlings push through their skeletons and their thin bones crumble turn into chalk turn into clay turn into water the sound of dripping thick dripping like slush like thick slimes like being dragged up a hill feet first through slush and wet leaves and compost and branches that snap while the elements around you and inside of you ramble and mushrooms releasing their spores spores flung into the sky spread out like fingers spread out like a hand entering nostrils entering lungs entering minds the minds of worms, blackbirds, snakes, wolves, monsters, apes entering them connecting them with buzzing strings threads passing passing pulsating liquid liquid knowledge between them touch it touch them bodies with the texture of a sponge brooding creatures creatures brooding brooding on dark eggs Hannah De Meyer