In the installation Echo’s Bones/Were Turned to Stone you lie with headphones on a hand-knotted carpet designed by the artist.
Punished by the goddess Juno, the loquacious nymph Echo can now only repeat what other people say. Lonely and abandoned, she dies in a cave. Her bones turn to stone, but her voice lives on and doubles every sound.
In Echo’s Bones/Were Turned to Stone you hear a female character in some state of mental distress, who seems to be trying to organize her thoughts into an anaphoric chain of endless associations, references and facts. She is fascinated by short anecdotes about the lives and deaths of artists, writers, actors, singers, artist’s models, film directors and composers such as Georgia O’Keeffe, Robert Bresson, Lucia Joyce, Alexandre Dumas, Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven, Samuel Beckett, Berthe Morisot, Erik Satie, Delphine Seyrig, Ovid, Mary Wollstonecraft, Isamu Noguchi, Lina Bo Bardi, Honoré de Balzac, Hilma af Klint, Edgar Allan Poe, Billie Holiday, and numerous others. Her countless enumerations alternate with sighs and groans, which then turn into factual descriptions of the functioning of the human body or the condition of the planet. As long as she speaks, she exists. Or, against death, what consolation, if any, is art?