Deer Man
Deer Man
by Edward Janssen, 2006
for Maska, up to 2023 !
If stars die
they collapse into endless points
that we call black holes
His bone structure is heavy, his curves manly, his butt round. You cannot see his face. His bare feet are surrounded by pieces of chalk he has scraped from the wall with the antlers. The man is tired. Nobody knows why someone would do such a thing … to create a hole in the wall with a deer’s antlers.
But you want to know. That night you describe the man in your diary. You write that the man bumped into the white wall for almost three days. He started his actions high spirited the first day. When you see him in the following days, his hands are shaking and his whole appearance seems less energetic. But tired or not, he keeps on bumping the antlers into the wall.
You don’t want the man to stop, even after he has left with his white chalked feet, sweaty and tired, holding what was left of the antlers.
In your story the scratches in the wall become deeper and deeper until there is a sign of a small hole. It was you that gave the man’s story another ending. You took over his action. Why did you?
The hole becomes bigger and deeper. You start to use your nails to scratch away chalk, at eyelevel. After a while the hole is big enough to climb through. Then you get scared. You stop writing the story by telling that you hung a painting in front of the hole. A seascape.
You want to forget. But you cannot. Your curiosity is triggered. You know there is no such thing as a space that nobody knows about.
You also know that you have crossed the point of no return. Suffering from headaches you sit down in your lazy chair and ponder on your opportunities.
Your eyes never lie. They reflect what you choose to see. It can be a hole, a depth, a bulge, a reflection or even a fantasy.
You decide your curtains will remain closed. You decide to shut yourself up for a while.
You have taken your definite position. You sit facing the white wall. Yesterday you moved your cupboards and repositioned the lights. You took some fierce spots from the basement and placed them in front of the wall. You stare into a perfectly shaped round hole.
The sides of the hole are curved like a sculpture, the space behind it is dark. The hole looks like a modern painting. You look at it for more than an hour. Images evolve from it. You see moons, curves, squares, surfaces without boarders, patterns, lines. Everything moves and twirls. The images suck your being. They fill you with nothing. Your body feels as if you no longer have one. You feel restless and go outside. Light shines through your curtains.
Why would someone stick a part of his body in an unknown world?
You realize you don’t know what you’re doing. You put a chair under the hole and climb upon it. You peel off your shirt until your arm is naked. You put your arm into the hole. You leave it there for a couple of minutes. You hesitate. No difference in temperature.
You pull your arm back and step off the chair. Before you go to bed you drink a can of water. You sleep soundly.
In the morning you go shopping. Sunlight shines through the fresh green of springtime leaves. You are happier then the day before.
You buy navy trousers, band-aids, textile, milk, chewing gum and an extra battery light. You say hello to all people passing by and smile to some women in the store. At the counter you notice your arm feels weird. You laugh. The shop assistant gives you a troubled look.
You lift your purchases with your strange arm. Your shopping bag breaks. Milk flows.
Once home you take off your coat. You sit down. The hole shines white. What if you would push your whole body through it?
You need to enlarge the hole. Will it be possible to get to the other side? Without implications? You need to think.
No! You had planned not to think. The hole has got you. You think about nothing else. Call someone? Move for the night? A hotel maybe?
You scare yourself by being alone. You take a deep breath.
You take the seascape painting from its frame. At its backside you write; ‘I don’t know what I am doing.’ You roll the canvas.
You turn off the doorbell and cut the telephone line. You take some white papers and black ink and start drawing. You enjoy every moment. Your curtains remain closed. You drink beers and make a drawing of you hanging upside down. You make another one of you dancing with antlers on your head and one of you having sex with a table. You draw and write like a mad man. But for whom?
You wonder how long it will take before anyone will start missing you. You decide to hurry.
‘Boy.’ You say to yourself. ‘Boy …’
You are extremely well prepared. Finally you climb on your cupboard, lay down on it and slide yourself from it through the hole.
On the other side you take out a white flag and slowly walk towards the unknown …
Deer Man Video small
Deer Man Video big
Read more (Text Maska (pdf) with article written about the artist)