1995, THE DEEP WOODS. The story begins; it’s early morning still; I’m seven years old; reality slips through my fingers. All I can see is the outline of things. The trees in the fog, etcetera etcetera.
1995, THE DEEP WOODS. I’m looking for myself. My voice, all dull now, is thrown back at me.
This is how it is: the world seems less and less clear for every word I use to portray it. Shades of mud and filth are placed between me and what I see. As time passes by, there’s nothing left to do but to dream. But never carelessly; always in a slightly sensible way. To paint a mouth in the same color as the mouth already has. To sometimes lie about being born in September and not in August.
1995, THE DEEP WOODS. If a person shouts for itself and no one hears it; does the shout really exist?
Johanna H. Stenbeck acts in the space between fiction and reality. Translates feelings and neuroses into another language than that of the body. Born (1988) and raised in Gislaved, Småland. Now living in Malmö.