I was deeply touched and inspired by a special performance I discovered on Spotify: a BBC radio broadcast entitled *The Evenings of Certain Lives*, performed by Barry Bermange, Delia Derbyshire and the visionary BBC Radiophonic Workshop. Woven into this work, to the subtle and compelling sounds of Bermange's compositions, are several interviews with the elderly. Five intimate and existential themes are presented to them, and through their responses a fragile yet powerful portrait of the human experience unfolds.

As a novice artist myself, who now bears the marks of the years, it fascinates me how feelings make us so vulnerable-how the naked human being becomes, literally and figuratively, a mirror of the time and society in which he lives. My own research focuses on the transformation of the body as time passes, and how this clashes with a mind that refuses to bow to inevitable decay. The apparent simplicity of aging ailments takes on a dramatic character when the body no longer has the natural suppleness of yesteryear. This raises questions: How is the naked body, once so powerful, seen now that it is older? What remains of its sensuality and grace when the body begins to show signs of aging?

At 52, I feel these changes myself, especially in dance movement. The fluid movements of yesteryear have turned into fragmented, almost bumping movements. It is as if each impulse, whether it comes from my arm, leg, pelvis or even the groin, has its own rhythm and slowness. These spontaneous impulses create a series of movements that seem disjointed at first glance, but which together create echoes of suppleness-a memory of what once was.
This creation begins, as it were, with a ceremonial start. I strip off my clothes, like a priest preparing for a ritual, and completely paint my body with gray paint. This gray is more than a color; it is a symbolic connection to the earth, to the passage of time. It is a custom reminiscent of a primitive tribe, where painting the body is an expression of life-a reminder of the essence of existence. It echoes the basics: aging, the gradual deterioration of the body, and ultimately, the inevitable encounter with death. Just like after a fierce fire, when the flames are extinguished and the wind blows the ashes into the desolate landscape—right into our faces—painting the body with gray paint symbolizes the process of aging. It is a silent tribute to the strength that once existed and the fragile beauty of decay.

What is the resilience of a body over fifty years old? How much stamina is left in a forty-minute dance performance? During my own performances, I ask myself this all the time. Dance-a constant improvisation-puts the body to exhaustion, and as exhaustion sets in, it affects not only the physical movements, but also the creative process. As my body slowly approaches its limits, the paint on the canvas continues. How does this battle of exhaustion translate into the process of creating a painting? Every movement on the canvas is a trace of that fatigue, a physical translation of the struggle between body and mind. The paint, as an extension of my aging body, exposes this tension.

And yet, in this struggle, also looms a surprising source of creativity: the primitive, almost childlike playfulness that still lurks in the aging body. How much of that playful, spontaneous instinct remains in an older artist? As the body bends under the burden of years, a return to a kind of original innocence takes place at the same time. This translates on the canvas into vibrant strokes and colors, as if the body, despite its limitations, is still able to play and create.  Each movement with the paintbrush is a dance with time, an exploration of the body slowly succumbing to its decay, but also a celebration of the vibrancy that still resides in it.

In my work, I experiment with the idea of the naked body as a brush, dancing across the canvas, but no longer with the grace of youth-rather with the beauty of imperfection. As my body moves across a canvas on the ground, I apply paint that forms a collage of fragments in complementary colors, each stroke directed by the rhythm of my aging body. The resulting composition may seem random, but it reflects an inner struggle: the body slowly giving in to its limitations and the mind clinging to the idea of eternal brightness, refusing to accept that the colors will ever fade.

This tension between physical decay and the unyielding spirit, still vividly expressing itself in color and form, gives my work its soul. The paint applied to the canvas by my movements is a visual echo of the inner struggle that so many older people feel: the question of how to unite beauty, strength and fragility in a body that inevitably ages. It is an exploration of impermanence and the question of whether the soul, like the body, will ever bow completely to time.

Geluidsfragment: https://open.spotify.com/album/03yL2peyShjj6NQBejBQJi?si=X-3YdHdtSy6AzXBCScL7gQ

Reflections #1 is an installation that takes its final form after the execution of eight performances. During each performance, a paint composition is created on canvas using the naked body. The blank canvases in the installation are replaced by a painted version after each performance. After the eight performances, the installation is complete. Each of the eight creations on canvas is filmed as a record.

This installation measures at least 600 cm wide, 1100 cm deep, and 350 cm high, and requires three electrical connection points. Depending on the exhibition space, it must be determined how the two cords can be secured at height. The accompanying audio that inspired me plays on a loop. Centrally, there is a plastic surface placed on the floor, where the cotton canvas to be painted lies in the middle. On this performance area are a wooden chair, a paintbrush, a bucket of water, and six buckets of paint (white, black, green, yellow, blue, and orange). Hanging on two cords along the two long sides of the performance area are two sets of four blank canvases directly opposite each other. Between the white canvases, there is an opening of one meter to allow spectators to view the performance. At the end of the installation, a fan gently moves the hanging canvases. On the other end, a video is continuously played on a screen.

Performance Scenario: Before the start, one of the eight canvases is detached from the cord and placed in the center of the floor. At the beginning of the performance, the audio and video are stopped. The performer enters the exhibition space and walks to the performance area of the installation. He silently removes his clothes and places/hangs them on/over the chair. Naked, he mixes black paint with white and begins to paint himself. Due to being less flexible in his limbs, it becomes relatively difficult to fully paint his back, for instance. Once the performer has finished this, the audio tape is restarted. The man hesitantly begins his dance movements. The fluid movements of the past have transformed into fragmented gestures. They resemble incoherent impulses emerging from the core of the body, with their own rhythm and slowness. For about forty minutes, the viewer observes an exhausting ritual intertwined with painting the canvas on the ground. The dynamics and rhythm of the movements translate into the drawing that emerges. The performance concludes at the end of the audio recording. The painted canvas is rehung after the performance. The audio is replayed in a loop, and the video continues to play.

This project is still a work-in-progress (details may still change).