b. 1994 in sweden

when my mind races i see cha-cha colours flash-flash-flashing by my mind’s eye... since birth i've been observin' and here you'll find my proof; journals, experiments, treasures. the journey of how i taught myself to see.  /blog

*i am under construction (site too)

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2021—loneliness cracks, group exhibition at k3 in malmö, sweden
2020—cover of daphne x’s cassette d(ear) diaries
2020—artist feature on ok cool editions
2019—published in rûm Issue °IV
2019—fotografie im forum ff#6 rûm x mischen, release at forum stadtpark in graz, austria
2019—the hubbub project, installation at atipico in barcelona, spain
2019—artist feature on dirtyharrry’s dirty blog
2019—artist feature on kiosk of democracy
2018—interview for iso40
all rights reserved 2021 © rebecka lindmark
like the tide.
approaching, pulling away,
Within the framework of this inflexible situation—after months in and out of involuntary isolation—I began to question my own identity and its fluid behavioral patterns. I had come to crave what was now forbidden—intimacy—and the need distracted and tore at me like a hunger. Like any desperate human, I began a feverish search for what I was looking for. I made it my very own little investigation; to search as deep as I could into the abysses of my own loneliness with the hope that I; sooner or later, inside of it; would be able to hold The Answer in my hands.
During the long research that followed, I surrounded myself with everything that loneliness had to offer; literature, scientific research, forums, art history, stories, confessions, sounds and unsounds; but primarily in the literary and cinematic fictional world; among the fictitious lonely; I found the true cure and enlightenment—my answer, my intimacy.
    In front of me stood no one but myself, in the shape of many varied, wide-open figures. This work takes off from a doubt, that will then be transformed and born again as a love letter; a sweet lie in the shape of replica.
a conversation between rebecka lindmark and johanna ribbe
The odyssey begins in the north, as a speck adrift in the Baltic sea. The "O" then stretches its legs—first far, far south, then east, east, east...
[livet är tumult fladdrande, likt havets vind. jag ömsar skinn. sträcker mina nya, lena lemmar mot det oändliga himlavalv som vilar ovanför.]
prologue: the Greek sage reeks heavenly, with earth’s spine beneath me (as Virginia had said; Orlando had felt it). I stomp mountains at dusk, yellow streets at dawn, read Rimbaud together with the big, old snake in the lavender gardens. nights are high fever, working the dry Spanish mountain. staring all day at an endless sun and also at Paco (not endless, my neighbour).
    Harvest came, then I went—to taste the seas, and love; yes love; I fell in love. afterwards I learned how to love, (amongst other things, but that’s another story—or is it?), but first of all I had to fall. I now think that all things both begin and end with falling. His beauty was bursting in earth’s palettes, and his favourite dish; a big spoon of white sugar.