Breaking through to another stratum involves both desire and anxiety. One cannot return to a state prior to understanding. One is reminded of the fall of man: thoughts of plummeting, and all manner of collapse, of allowing oneself to be engulfed by waters. The understanding – if only for a second – that we are a part of some more forceful movement. Leaning over the mirror and seeing both the sky and the mirror itself, the tiny spots of rust that have appeared on its surface. The fact of one’s own face being a covering in flux, ravaged by age. The idea of being in some state of exchange in that way, radically. Allowing oneself to be transilluminated by the thought of seeing and being seen. The fact that we are nature: nature discovering itself and proceeding on through life.

Excerpt from Josefine Klougart's contribution to Your glacial expectations

A metaphor connects two spaces in the world. A mirror does the same: my face, there. In the surroundings of the redbrick buildings at Ebeltoft in Mols, the mirrors are openings in the earth. Among tufts of sapless grass, between the buildings and the sea, the mirrors give the space inside them to the sky, and as sky the earth opens to us, the way a rose opens and reveals its face. The sky in the earth declares itself to us, the way a lover might. We see sky and lover anew, and for the first time. In an unexpected place. From a new and surprising angle. It’s a kind of cubism. Seeing the sky from different sides at once, in a single image. A temporal cubism: we see the glacier lakes of the ice age, in a modern landscape altered by human hand.

It’s all to do with seeing, gaining access. It’s about recollection. Private recollection, and that of the wider community. It’s a matter of digging and uncovering layers of nature. In the mind, and in the landscapes