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Selected Works


2007 Transplants - Hobusepea Gallery, Tallinn Estonia
The exhibition holds some critical, visual responses to some aspects of Estonian society stimulated by encounters with individuals over recent months.  Bitter emotion, the blind following of economic policy, the blind eye cast at integration are some of the keys to understanding some of the metaphors but also there are funny takes on what seems to be society’s demands on personal identity  And so it also, in effect, says something about the artists own position and status, which continues to develop and change yet still be ambiguous here in Estonia.

The transformation of bronze using pseudo-witchcraft
Carpet, bronze urn, bones, broomsticks, audio track of Nuremberg Rallies playing extreme Nazi speeches

Demographic bed of nails
A bed of six inch nails representing, through various stages of rusting, the different make-up of the population of Estonia

Drum for shaman whose powers of divination have been handicapped
Wood and deer-skin shaman drum with a faint image of the euro sign projected with a backlight through the skin, and a drumstick made from a bone, coins and plastic

Barrel of implants waiting for the president to declare he has no bodily hair
Wooden barrel exploded by expanded polystyrene from which hair implants seem to be growing

European subsidies can seriously damage your health
Photographs of patient with scars from open-heart surgery laughing at himself with his own false teeth, rusty cast-iron heart, heart of coins and plastic, glass and metal table, stainless steel containers

Kiss in Kohila
DVD 3 min
Video of school kids spanning a bridge by passing on in rotation a simple kiss

The boots don’t fit
Photograph of the artist in Estonian national costume without boots, sitting in front of a traditional farmhouse

Super 8 video (digitised) 3 min
Few knew his name but he was known affectionately as Marigold for obvious reasons. Everyone thought he was just crazy, obsessed with traffic because the hand movements he constantly made were of course very similar to a traffic policeman’s gestures. The people at the night-shelter clearly cared for him and even bought him a fluorescent jacket for his safety as he constantly tramped the city streets throughout the day, waving his hands. I followed him sometimes and eventually realized he wasn’t directing traffic or even the people in the street. He was actually forming, shaping, making minor adjustment to space and the world. It must have been hard work because his heart simply burst one day.