nous ne notons pas les fleurs.
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– Nous ne notons pas les fleurs, dit le géographe. – Pourquoi ça! c’est pas joli! – Parce que les fleurs sont éphémères. from Le Petit Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry |
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| It has been 4 days since I first started working with these flowers. When I thought of the idea, I began to check whether it was technically feasible, and thought that I had to make a bamboo support structure for my tripod. I waited for a day, and then started physically fiddling with the site. That was when I found out that it was possible to secure my tripod with some kind of rope to the balcony. |
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| The location of my tripod is just in front of Jon and Moe’s room. When I finally managed to bring a rope and started securing my tripod, they came out and generously helped. I also found a powerpoint nearby, perfect for my video camera, which is going to record the time-lapse. |
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Jon (Vichukorn Tangpaiboon) and Moe Satt posing with my tripod
It might have looked like this idea came out from nowhere. I remember Shambhavi asked me where I wanted my site to be during a meal. Was it on a trip somewhere? I can’t remember now (but will update here later when I do). I blurted out this flowers-time-lapse idea and was amazed at how fluent it came out of my mouth. I was even sure I would be able to put my tripod up on the balcony and record from there. It must have been my Terra Incognita, et cetera experiences taking over! Up until that conversation with Shambhavi, I actually was still thinking of doing something else. I actually have sketched this earlier idea in my notebook as well, and haven’t sketched anything of this flowers work at all. |
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This earlier idea had something to do with my early experiences in India. I have never been to India before, and have been told by friends that, contrary to my expectation, India would be quite different to Indonesia. I somewhat disbelieve it, and thought surely I would find many similarities.
The first day I arrived in Delhi and checked in at Western Court Hostel, I felt that everything looks quite similar to Indonesia, but extremely different at the same time. Almost hourly I would find myself thinking that I was in Flores, and I had to constantly shake my brain to re-convince myself that I was in India. The streets of New Delhi felt somehow like Jakarta, or perhaps Jakarta and Bali mixed together. Or even perhaps all the cities in Indonesia mixed together. I could see stray dogs everywhere, like in rural Bali, and a mist of dust hung in the air, like in the metropolitan Jakarta. There was something missing, however, or perhaps excessive in some other way. Like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle that would have made Indonesia, shuffled to be reassembled, a few extra pieces taken, a few less pieces added. It was hard to pinpoint what was different. It is still difficult, but I have given up trying to figure out the difference, and am definitely getting used to being here without thinking it’s Flores. I haven’t taken any photos in New Delhi. The first day, however, I went out and walked about, with one mission: getting a local mobile number. I found an office just in front of the hostel saying “MTNL”. They told me I should fill in a form, hand in a photocopy of my ID and my passport, along with a passport photo. Such bureaucracy. Later I found out from Sharmilla that they are trying to control everything because of terrorism and the fact that mobile phones are often used to trigger bombs. By that time, I have experienced having gone to a stall where they apparently were promoting their MTNL products, hoping to have it easier, only to get the same old bureaucracy covered with sweet commercialism: the only difference is that they have instant gifts for people signing up. And of course a young lady with a nice smile saying “Hanji” (which later became my first proper word in Hindi) everytime I asked something. I filled in the form in situ, one of their staff took my ID and made a photocopy of it for 1 Rupee, while I chose my gift. A tacky wall clock to bring back to London for souvenir. Still, I had to go for the passport photo experience. And there I went. The photographer took his job very seriously. He asked me to comb my hair. I did. Then he said something about my face. I didn’t understand at first, but then found out that it must have been quite oily. Lucky I had my Gatsby oil-absorbing paper with me. The passport photo looked excellent! |
| So up until that conversation with Shambhavi about my site of choosing, I thought I would just go to every passport photo shop in the city of Patna and make as many passport photos as possible, interacting with the people in the shop in the process. I remember Shambhavi emailing me about the migration out of Bihar, and me asking Shambhavi further about the migration. Are people familiar with passports? I thought of realising my “DIY: make your own passport” workshop. How complicated is the bureaucracy process to get a passport? I thought of somehow working with people imitating that bureaucracy. |
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| But being at Tarumitra, having gone around visiting temples, having been to Nalanda, then Bodhgaya and reflecting on how important place, centre, movement and pilgrimage is for human, looking at marigold flowers hanging and remembering the abundance of flower petals we spread to the ocean on the day of my father’s death, I became fixated on these flowers, imagining them on the floor of the circular hall, and thought I should do something with them. |
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It seemed ideal. The mezzanine, I thought, would be perfect for filming. After giving up the frustrating idea of making a bamboo structure for my tripod, and discovering that it was quite simple to secure my tripod, I bought garlands of flowers the next day, de-string them, and started to try a few different framings.
It was clear since the beginning that I wanted to do something similar to Terra Incognita, et cetera, although I knew it wouldn’t be the same project. Why flowers, though? I looked up “flowers and geography” in the internet, and found a quote from my favourite story, Le Petit Prince.
– from The Little Prince, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. Serendipity? Perhaps not. I have read The Little Prince over and over again at different period in my life, and each time it gave something different, and each reading highlighted different parts of it. Or, perhaps, yes, it was only a coincidence. It doesn’t matter now. |
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| Everything, you see, including geography, is ephemeral. Everything – our so highly regarded national identity, our so guarded boundaries, everything. We only need to play with time in order to realise this. |
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| One day before the Open Day, I will start with a bed of flowers covering the floor area that’s recorded on my video screen. Then gradually I will arrange the flowers to shape like India. Slowly, I will then part the flowers by colour, separating the 28 states of India. |
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This image above with the two of me is a digital sketch.
On the Open Day, 8 Nov 2009, I will ask our visitors questions about places and migrations. They will then take some flowers and move them somewhere else. And so everything will be liquified again. |
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