Maj Britt Jensen

“Look at me, this is me”. And also: I experiment looking at myself, this is who I am. But, what I am, or even better, what I seek (as abstract as it may seem) is not there, it is not trapped within the image; it is not evident, since it has no bearing with my surface, except very seldom, when it prints itself upon it. It is definitely neither in my face, nor in my body as it is. What I am looking for is shown in the movements, in the changes, in the instability. In the way that I touch, articulate, in the manners in which the things are said to me, in the interchange with other individuals. In how I depend on them without yearning it, as in the way I replace them. It is also in the way in which I become affected by the objects, how they encourage me, in the way that I bind them together, without reciprocal belonging. In how I approach, in the way I connect to the spaces, penetrate them… And definitely, always as well in all their opposites, those that commonly appear.  Impossibilities of assemble and understanding. First of all: I do. And you: “Look at me doing”. “But, when you do not take part in it, I do not understand the meaning of that what remains of the experience”. What are those actions? What does the air moving my hair around or my real body coinciding with my body represented in an image mean? Those are encounters as well. Then I look at what I do, at how I do it. Explorations of the world and, above all: games of (self-) seduction. The camera sees me. I get close, I move away, I feel the tension increasing as I approach, I feel it diluted and modified as I walk away. Only for a few moments I forget that it is there. This portable stage, building with its setting a space in-which-it-is-still-possible-to-act, seduces me. In this space, always staggering between brutal speed and vertiginous illusion, it becomes necessary to seduce. I am speaking from the art point of view. Only the trace of an experience remains. Shared? Shared. Tension is what really matters, concentration, emotion generated by the promise. Brutal like this: only vestiges remain. This is how art seduces me: not having to comply, playing with the largest amount of expectations on both sides. Nothing is a lie, although nothing in it would have happened without its artificial frame.