The clouds of my stamps are my words that I wrote down during my slave-project. They express the agony I felt, that agony that was seeping and sneaking into my thoughts when I thought about the situations I might confront when I give myself away, that I'd be as helpless as animals are in our hands, as helpless as those people who are treated like animals. I was more and more afraid of the lottery when it came closer to happen. What if I have to humiliate myself so badly that I'm not able to look at myself in the mirror, what if I have to obey someone's mean and sick whims, what if this weird experiment releases something of my owner that leads into physical pain?
My slave-project was about being a slave for one week for someone, who was chosen by lot in the end of the exhibition Rietveld in de Oude Kerk 07. I promoted myself with my wedding dress in the church during the exhibition and gave the lottery tickets to people. It all happened, also the lottery, openly under people's eyes. As a bride with the wedding dress the issue of consent was very much present. I became a slave voluntarily. I submitted, promised to please, promised to try my best to make my owner happy. I did everything that my controller wanted me to do. I gave away my free will and personal happiness and became a puppet, a robot, a domestic animal, an obedient piece of meat. I was at the mercy of someone. My owner was chosen by lot as a gesture for those who don't have the ability or possibilities to decide their own actions. My sacrifice provided a contrast to everything forced. It was a gift, I gave away the only thing and everything I had, myself.
Even though slavery is officially abolished, human rights organizations tell us that the slavery still exists and it has many forms. Also arranged and forced marriages are still reality. Many wives in this world are owned by men - they don't have enough legal rights, they can exist only by their fathers or husbands. Rape in marriage is not even a crime in many cultures. Some call it cultural relativism. Also, in order of precedence that we define animals they are totally defenseless. A unique living being becomes an object without any rights, for the use of the human race. World is a game of chance. Some are born healthy human beings in safe environment with all the possibilities for having a good life, while some are born to be tortured as laboratory animals or raised to believe in some religion or moral codes that make them emotional and psychological slaves.
We are living in the hierarchy of subjugation and submission. People and animals are forced to do against their own will. Free will is the ability to freely choose the control we have over our destiny with there being so many different circumstances and influences on us. We are slaves when decisions are made separate from ourselves, outside of ourselves, and we have to obey orders. Then our bodies don't contain us. It is like being soulless.
It was shocking that after my slavery some people seemed disappointed that I didn't have so awful stories to tell, that I was lucky with the lottery, that my owner treated me well. That my story wasn't so interesting after all, not shocking like some news that we consume as our entertainment. Behind stories that we've heard too many times are real people and animals and they live and suffer also before and after their 15 minutes of fame. They are not just fragments of their stories. The media, machinery of publishing, distribute words repeating them thousands and thousands of times. Even though I don't like the way the media use pain as a fuel, I think that our freedom of speech is the most important human right. It is difficult to hurt someone when one knows that the victim is able to tell later on what happened, when it's not kept between the victim and the one who did wrong. When one thinks that the other is just a receiver, a deadlock without words, then it's easy to forget the ethical standards. Silence kills.
With my stamps I'm not only referring to my own thoughts, but also to the headlines and news. Like we read and know only some parts of the stories of the victims and the rest of the words are missing, I stamped just some fragments of my thoughts, even though I wrote a lot before, during and after my project. I was using the walls as my paper and like the empty walls are like empty pages, my little slavery should not take too much space on the walls while there's so many real tragedies in the world. One can think how the walls would look like if they were filled with all the stories.