Don’t think about the yellow lemon. That’s how it works in that head of ours…
Miriam ponders the deep clutter in our heads. Like any other mess, it’s created either by the build-up and layering of things that haven’t been tidied up for a while or by a single, unpredictable event that can throw off balance everything we’ve been painstakingly straightening for so long. Her dad was diagnosed with stage four cancer, and for her mom, the discovery triggered separation anxiety, fear of loneliness, and depression. Miriam films her as she mounts her bike in slippers to chase the endorphins that will help her cope on her own after so many years of co-existence.
Although Miriam has already completed her bachelor’s degree, she claims that the film and installation from her thesis, Každý deň je najkrajší (Every Day Is the Most Beautiful), are not yet finished. In terms of continuity, this makes sense. After all, her mom will continue to ride her bike, take care of her husband, and convince her brain not to think about the yellow lemon. And that’s exactly how Miriam’s images work: they connect us to the main characters and central motifs through their obvious naturalness, so much so that it ceases to matter who is the viewer and who is the partaker. We are all collectively experiencing the same story. Authenticity lies in the wide range and overlapping of subtle nuances of diverse emotions, and also in the ability to name things and feelings spontaneously and directly, without fear of making them more real by uttering them.
I go into the woods because I know that someone will find out
I’m watching the short film Jen utrhnout knoflíček a jsi někým jiným (Just Tear Off a Button and You’re Someone Else), which Miriam and her co-authors, Maria Hantáková and Nikol Rácová, made as part of the symposium Křehké formy, odolné formy (Fragile Forms, Resilient Forms). I’m a bit apprehensive as I’m already slightly over-saturated with projects and works focused on the search for one’s identity. I’m not questioning the topicality of the subject, but the amount of works and the occasional subtle whiny tone can get really overwhelming. Eventually, the video gives me goosebumps. Suddenly, I feel that the messages I had previously perceived as trite or clichéd are becoming the most raw and material interpretation of the real.
In this film, Miriam names thoughts and attitudes that sometimes make me so uncomfortable that I prefer to pretend they are not mine. The main character contemplates going into the woods but isn’t really sure why. Her schizophrenic self explains it to her: Maybe she just wants to take a picture there and send it to the others. But what if she really wants to wear grass slippers and a long coat and walk on all fours? She has to figure it out on her own. What’s the real desire and where does the tension come from? How do we know when it’s still just a wish and when it’s a social construct? The questions splinter against each other and blur the solid contours of the self.
Eventually, footage from a real performance that takes place in the large warehouse hall of Plato Bauhaus enters the picture very seamlessly. Several cameras and phones of the audience are pointed at Nika Rácová, watching her every move. In front of the lenses, the last vestiges of her subjectivity disappear and a complete alienation takes place… But it has a happy ending, at least I think. The actress finds her missing button and with it the way back to herself.
Miriam tells me that she is involved in many other different themes. But her images give her away – that theme is ultimately one and only one. She tells stories about relationships. About relationships with ourselves, with our loved ones, with society, and with the planet. Because, despite all our individuality, we get inside each other’s heads, where we can quickly cause a mess, but can also help each other clean up.
