To Pernille From Pernille


What you are and are not
it is your game
it is your room
Beuys, Bourgeois, Beauvoir
Dada, Fluxus, Kandinsky.

Didn’t I hear that your grandmother was Russian?

In your room nothing is unambiguous.

the notion of a housewife’s handiwork
and abstract modernist traditions
are abolished and destroyed,

bull  shit .

are no opposites and totally
tender  and brutal.

are harmony and explosion
body and brain
rhythm and anti-rhythm.

Here are
now and then,

same shit.

As Sherrie Levine said:


The longing for the picture one wants to see:

Everything in a rage. A memory. A loaded patina. A dull texture.
Virginia Woolf’s words:
It is fatal to be a man or a woman pure and simple.

The opening of my own fate:
Gran’s  embroidered bell-pull
Great Gran’s lace tablecloth
Nan’s meticulous darning
Patche on patche
Stitche on stitche
Loop on loop

Didn’t I hear that they learnt from their mother?

Thoughts full of longing relations, power and struggle
you and I
hours that became  years
on needles.

All that I am and am not
The game I play
that is my room.
It is where you have asked me to go.

Pernille Fischer Christensen
Film Director