Elisabeth Molin and Davinia-Ann Robinson communicate through an assemblage of images and texts delving further into their practices.

Part of the exhibition SH/FT at

Page launch 19/05/21
Sharks, Spirits and Corporeal Intimacies,
I am unsure as to if it is still alive, its Winter so this makes it difficult to tell. The tree’s base is completely on show, exposing the clay-like soil at its once base and roots. On the underside of the tree, the clay has dried hard, its colours are warm pale terracotta, I believe this is called white soil, due to its nutrients being lost, but I will have to check this. There are three or four different types of moss growing around the area of the fallen tree, next time I visit I will take some samples so I can double check them against photos I have taken,
Last time I visited this space it was about six weeks ago at the end of September, the tree looked more alive then. Currently its bark is really dark and if it was not for two small patches the size of my hands, which are creamy white I would not have even been able to guess Birch of a type of tree, although I still might be wrong.
I was feeling fairly relaxed, I was aware of my body in this predominantly white space,
I can hear roaring traffic in the background and the roaring wind blending the sounds of the environment. Rain gently slipping in-between my body and the environment around me. There are leaves on the ground, more than before, they cover the clay, moss fallen branches and other leaves which are still alive crawling along the Forest floor.
I felt, I feel more at ease in this space than before but still hesitant to uncover fresh soil, to tactility engage with this environment in-case others who presume to have more claim to this space question me.
There are more leaves to clear from the clay-like soil before I can plunge my fingers into it and connect flesh to flesh, with this space.
The clay-like soil felt soft in my hand it formed a smooth ball with ease, pressed against my palms and fingers, near perfect consistency for supporting life, but its colour is Orca, beautiful rich oranges and terracotta, depleted minerals from years of vegetation.
Holding the soil in my hand I felt connected to myself, the distinction between felt flesh and soil slipped away, it was as if I held onto myself.
There are more leaves, they cover the ground so much that I can only see isolated islands of Moss against their decay. Its silent and noisy, the hum of traffic blends itself into the Forest, I can almost mistake it for the sound of this space. I can hear Birds communicating with one another, slight spoken words, I strain my inner register to hear, life is different here today, dryer, seemingly dead, but I know this is not so, what is it about the wet that makes this space so alive?

I feel less anxious here today, more comfortable in my Black Female form, there are less people walking by, less chance of questioning, I was questioned.
The route between CPH and VIE was so foggy that the pilot got lost half way and had to turn back. They say that an increase in temperature has nothing to do with the jetstream but perhaps that isn’t true, perhaps turbulence is caused exactly by this.

In the electro shop I find a solution for backlighting the dia slide that I like, because it reveals the idea of technology as something fragile, unfixed, susceptible to damage. The electrician packs it in cotton and other soft materials to protect it for travel, he straps it with fragile tape.

While I’m packing later on I hit the package and it falls and breaks one of the cathode tubes. When I unpack it I find splinters everywhere. This once glowing screen is now transformed into little pieces of glass, dust and wire. Something inside me also breaks when I see it.

I said yes to working for J partly out of a need for distraction and partly because I missed the feel of hard labour on my body. The last few weeks had been almost immaterial; reading, researching, making proposals and writing fora fictitious future, and at least this was a contrast, something I could touch and melt into. I wanted the almost sobering feeling of reducing myself to an hourly wage, I wanted to feel a weight on my body.

I knew it was a dusty idea to stay at S’s place. I woke up in the middle of the night to the sound of the heating system, took a shower in the black bathroom, the foam formed like white blood on the tiles, stains that didn’t come off afterwards.The shampoo, the conditioner, the towels and the toothbrush were all black, as was the decor in the studio and the black Maserati across the street. I started to count, 1. Crow, 2. Shoes, 3. Linen, 4. Fork, 5. Curtain, 6. LEGO, 7. Insect, 8. Game chair, until counting didn’t make sense anymore. It was as if, by creating some kind of system for myself, by trying to find meaning in these objects, I was thinking about how they could, if at all, relate to his death. I looked into cursed objects, mythologies around objects, consumer fetishism. Tried to argue how the dark shadows were eating the light ones, how the whole garden was pitch black all day long. How his bike and his movements were dark in away.
A visa card weighs 6 grams

1 euro weighs 8 grams

My passport weighs 32 grams 
Wristwatch—119 grams 

Phone—333 grams 

Keys—123 grams 

Chewing Gum—2 grams
We went there just to have a look at things, just to get a glimpse of this Place where
nothing was tied down, except the concrete DIY bags and logos King, Crystal and (fragment). Everything was in a floating state, the girls looked like boys and the boys like girls, some wore dresses and heavy moon-like shoes. The rooms you entered didn’t lead anywhere, or they had something never-ending about them, something ironic in the way one maze covered in runway logos slowly led to a dump. Another place was made from aluminium and inside, hidden between one sheet of alu and another, there were eyes blinking repeatedly, a girl lying bottomless on the concrete floor posing in a t-shirt of some yet-to-be-invented cartoon character. It felt infinite and solid at the same time, as if, in its dream-like character, it captured something about the way things constantly move, dissolve and break into each other.
We are standing opposite each other, hands folded together, glazing into a reflection. There are mountains and landscapes all around us. What does it mean to know a place.

When you have been away from ‘A’ and return to it, is it then still the same place. What is
 ‘A’ in and of itself. If we define ‘A’ in terms of our relationship to it, how does that change the way we look at it. When does ‘A’ start to fluctuate, when does it get turbulent.

The woman in the hydraulic crane is rotating the joystick to move its extending arm along the outside of the plane. When she presses the joystick down, a high-pressure orange liquid covers the surface. The foam momentarily blocks the view from the windows.

A.F.R. R.A.F F.A.R

Where are you and how does one find you. Are you still a body, or just particles of dust, stars or satellites. Will I find you if I move closer to the moon or to the sun. Do you remember the time when there was a white pigeon inside the airplane, causing panic and an early descent.

I have made lists about how you can fully or partly disappear, the lists include; digital camouflage, clouds and masks, the idea that systems can be so watertight that you can disappear into them, and the camera as a way to make yourself invisible.