Can we speak with light using our body?
This was a central question I hoped to answer when I arrived at Kunstnarhuset Messen this June.
If light is language, it is always speaking into me.
And what am I saying with it?
Can one understand the sun from a rocky shore?
Can one understand distance through an outstretched arm?
I knew that I would uncover something during my time at Messen, but I could hardly have fathomed the magnitude, beauty and wealth of my discovery. The natural beauty of the region invites meditative contemplation, and the long days helped me develop a stronger appreciation for the subtleties of the constantly shifting present moment. The vertical presence of the craggy mountains and their silent snowy caps were well balanced by the horizontal complexities of the meandering fjord and its shimmering waves. During my time there, these snow caps quietly dissipated into the glittering falls feeding the endless blue fjord. And thus a season moved into my own veins.
With rather limited mobility (the bus only runs about every 2 hours and the nearest coffee shop is about 25 minutes away) I became intimately familiar with my immediate surroundings. I hiked up the mountain over the village several times and was constantly stunned by the vistas. The terrain shifts noticeably when you approach the tree line, moving from woody abundance into a stronger sense of brutality and spareness in the heights. I found myself small and welcome in them. I found myself intensely alone and was grateful.
I came to continue my work on a large cross arts project that explores sunlight, displacement, and devastation. It requires me to move meditatively in the light, and with 18 hour days, I had ample opportunity to discover what the light was speaking into me. In fact, I tried to inundate myself with this long daylight as much as I could. A family member had packed a sleeping mask for me since I have a hard time sleeping in Philadelphia due to the ambient street light coming in through my windows. While at Messen, however, I quickly put that aside and opted to soak myself in the natural light, even moving my mattress to the floor under the window when I slept. I found that within just a few days, I was sleeping incredibly well. Dreamlessly. With blue resilience.
It is hard to describe all the things I discovered and found in Messen. The wonderful artists I met, the quiet beauties I experienced, the long walks filled with the humming chatter of bees. The kindness and welcome, the friends I made.
But most essentially, I experienced a profound peace.
And this has led me to my outstanding discovery–the sun’s light wishes us well. It wants to accomplish life with us.
To speak this daylight in our bodies, we need only assent. To confirm the radiant blue gold distance pouring through ourselves, too.
I stayed at Messen, but Messen now stays in me. It has opened this channel inside me, confirmed in a solar display. I feel it as firmly as the word “home” inside my spine. I hope to return.
May we all find such aerial kindness inside.
Sueyeun Juliette Lee