I spoke to the artist to find out if she was thinking of selling her art to be performed by other people and she told me that she wasn't interested. She explained to me that the actions in her manual have been done for a small fee from a gallery or in the context of an art festival, but most of the time, she goes to the streets on her own, covering her own production costs. As an action that works on the lines of escape from the current mode of production, capitalism, the strength of the action in her point of view was in the possibility of saying: nobody pays me to be here, I do this because I want to. She seems to be interested in proving that there is still room for our own desires and needs to be expressed and that interactions can take place without serving the production of value and goods for a commercial purpose.

This final reflection is about being sited at the porch for almost 2 hours waiting in a crossroad and my interview with the artist.

I thought it would be easier to sit there and wait. Now that I am writing this I remembered that I am not good at waiting. I am sure I am not able to be there doing other things, or distracting myself. I want to be present at that specific place, as a whole being, waiting with all my cells and living in that moment and only. But I get distressed, the fear of abandonment takes hold of me once again, and all the traumas, all the days, all the absences, all the holding and anticipation are there in all their weight. This is my feasible present, me and the weight of all my previous and, expected, disappointments. It hurts to be there. I am looking for a sign of kindness and understanding, but I encounter surprised faces, disguised laughter, and a feeling that people are not taking this seriously. Well, this is good, I am happy that what is offered is not something that they are used to receiving. In the end, I started to pay attention to nature, to the soundscape (recording), because no one was sitting in the empty chair to talk with me. At that moment, I started to imagine that the birds were telling me their love stories, sharing their fears, and the stories of the ancient people that lived there before us and I was feeling grateful with their generosity of not leaving me alone, their understanding of my need to hear something, my need of not being in complete silence, waiting someone in the company of my fears.

My hands.

number 2: Start to knit a twenty-centimeter-wide strip.

"I never knew what to do with my hands, and I could not walk properly or control my voice. You cannot imagine the state of mind of one who knows as he goes through a play how terribly badly he is acting." Nina, Seagull, Chekov.