Welkom in het Lost & Found archief. Sinds 1997 heeft Lost & Found meer dan 200 avonden voor verdwaalde beelden en geluiden samengesteld. Kunstenaars, schrijvers, wetenschappers en muzikanten laten werk in ontwikkeling zien, experimenteren of tonen werk dat (nog) niet in hun oeuvre past. Een specifiek en uniek podium voor divers en hybride werk dat in een museaal circuit geen plaats heeft.
beeldend kunstenaar en schrijver (TR/NL)
It's warm here and I'm heavily clothed. The beer bottles at Muziekgebouw are so tiny that my hands look bigger than they already are; I unfold the clenched fist of my other hand and dream of an ostrich egg in it, trying to balance things out. People are drinking their tiny beers around an island of light (which I name The Annunciation) that illuminates a big rectangle on the floor in front of the DJ: it looks like a huge stucco runner: masking tape divides it into pieces and there is a white plastic bucket on it. I carefully examine the ceiling looking for a water leak. Some people are a little further away towards the edge of the dizzying balcony of what I think is the third floor of this gargantuan building-with-a-view. There is a gradual fade from the bright white lights to dim blue lights towards that nauseating edge, and people who are closer to this blue light look like socializing ex-addicts on the verge of a relapse.
We are kindly invited to take our seats at the Kleine Zaal. Me and my friend walk towards a couple of front seats. Suddenly a lady runs like a tech fan that queued up for thirty-six hours in front of the Apple Store and throws a bunch of coats on the seats. We sit on the side stage that has a breathtaking tangential view of the screen. Introduction ensues. There is quite a crowd and sadly there aren't enough seats they say; a group of standing people are lurking behind sitting people with predatory attention.
Written for L&F Lost & Found Muziekgebouw (03–04–2015)