Animals Autobiography Body Chains of effects Community Collaborative Dialogue Dream Drift Evolution Failure Family Feminism Forest Gravity Home Identity Inequality Language Love Manifesto Melancholy Narrative Nature Navigation Notes Pain Perception Prostitution Power Rhythm Script Scepticism Sculpture Self-organization Sociology Space Subject Television Territory Time Tourist Translation Tradition Travel Urban Utopia

What follows is an unsorted, nonhierarchical and partly arbitrary selection of characters who have influenced our work. A family album, a list of usual suspects, your average perpetrators - or maybe just a side show of funny faces, assembled together from our library of eyes, noses, ears, facial hair et cetera.
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There were several books on the bookshelf that I was too short to reach, and one who didn’t fit amongst the others because of its size: it was being kept on the desk in the office instead. The book of chronicles. I learned to read fairly late, and I started out with this one. “The 20th century chronicles”. I was sitting with it for days on end. All through the night, secretly. The cover was a collage of scientists, presidents, celebrities, emigrants, wars and athletes. It was rather easy to grasp, well arranged with two months worth of time for every page spread: history begun in January of 1900 and ended, abruptly, in December of 1987.
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- Svenska

Image: A very sunny late summers day at the southern coast of Sweden. On the beach a placard has been erected, 3,60 x 2,55 meters. Behind it, the sea and the sandy beach. The sun stands low and shines like a lamp on the placard. A shimmering light from the sea. The placard is painted with straight lines, in the same colors as the sky, the sea and the beach. It is quite windy and Dad is standing behind the placard, holding a rope to straighten it up. On the placard it is written:

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A local Zambian dance performance with African masks in variations of black and white. The children sob and roar. Their expressions of fear and their screams in a foreign language sink deep down inside me. Why the masks seem to terrify them so, I cannot understand. It is a game, but still and all, it isn't. The black children I usually play with glance at us.
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- Svenska