In the last days of June 2024 I learned something I would rather not know. Aware that the act of forgetting is something that often simply happens, I started a daily practice of checking if I could still remember what I would like to forget. The question I found myself asking as time passed and I failed is if the desire to remember is what makes us forget.
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In the last days of June 2024, I learned something I would rather not know.
Something I wanted to forget.
Aware that the act of forgetting is something that often simply happens, I start a daily practice: at the end of each day I sit down, stamp a date on a notebook page and take note: Do I still remember? I write using charcoal, a material that has little permanence. To work with charcoal is to constantly fight its desire to go away. Every night I take the time to see if I can still remember what I would like to forget. I know how to remember, I don’t know how to forget. I do nothing to forget, I simply let time pass and register the presence of this thing I now know. I don’t know how to actively forget, and I choose not to learn ways to do it. I wait for it to happen.
As time passed and I failed, I found myself asking if the desire to remember is what makes us forget.
I fail over and over again.
I still remember.
A dice roll is the very image of randomness. Every day since September 1, 1994, I have rolled a set of six dice, written down the number combinations and collected the numerical material in an ever-growing physical archive. The project is entitled "one and one hundred dice rolls a day". I use this numerical material as a starting point for transformations by translating each number, 1 to 6, into one sign, shape, sound or word, and by creating rules for how these translations will be used further. This method shapes the concrete outcomes and results in series or other forms of progressions and connections. What unites the different sub-projects that stem from the dice roll project is an exploration of the inherent nature of this special material and its potential for form, expression, and visibility, as well as a fascination with the diversity and variations generated, and with results I cannot fully predict. In this exposition, I will describe, make visible, and reflect on the working method, process, and the development of the formal language and expressions that have emerged from this ongoing, and in many ways interconnected, artistic project. The project is seen from a place (that of me, the artist's perspective) and is developed from a point (the dice rolls with dots representing numbers).
This practice-led research exposition by architect-researcher Elina Koivisto explores how conducting architectural practice through the framework of feminist spatial practice can provide possibilities for un-learning harmful habits and reaching towards uncertain speculative futures. The case study project Kudos – Library for Material Relations realized in Espoo, Finland as a co-creative process between human and non-human participants, provided a lens through which the current material and social relations in architecture-making were challenged, applying the conceptual thinking of posthuman feminist thoughts on care and interconnectivity. Reflecting on the project, architecture is seen as a tool for feminist becomings rather than as a producer of mere artefacts, and meaning and significance are found in the process of its making.
“No one knows what the experiment is worth, but I imagine it’s better than sitting on your own hands.” Possible and barely possible moves is inspired by the kung-fu film Drunken Master, where simulated intoxication is used as a way to confuse the opponent. In the project, I used sketches of the movements in the film as a starting point for physical improvisations and looped GIF animations. Imbalance and loss of control have been used as a consistent method – both to generate material and as a way to surprise myself. Failing at something you've set out to do can sometimes generate new ideas.
What if failure is not collapse but recalibration? This research reconsiders seismic activity as a speculative site of vibratory instability, adjustment, and relational tension, rather than disaster. Drawing on seismic data from the most significant Romanian earthquakes between 1977 and 2023, the project translates magnitudes into an immersive sound installation that renders the inaudible perceptible through algorithmic processing and low-frequency vibration. The resulting sonic environment invites discomfort and disorientation as productive states, reframing failure as a mode through which we may interpret stability itself differently.
The work draws from Merleau-Ponty’s phenomenology, Jung’s archetypal theory, Bohm’s field theory, Deleuze’s pataphysics, Priest’s aesthetics of failure, and Eshun’s sonic fiction to position seismic resonance as a speculative and unstable threshold between sensing and knowing. Rather than presuming to represent the Earth’s voice, the installation critically engages with the ethical implications of translating geophysical data into sound, acknowledging the gaps, distortions, and interpretive acts involved. Instead of breakdown, failure becomes a condition of listening – one that resists mastery and opens a dialogue between human and more-than-human temporalities through sonic practice.
This exposition explores the paradox of rendering visible a research that seeks to remain unseen. It examines concealment, obfuscation, and selective disclosure as strategies of resistance and protection, questioning the ethics and politics of visibility in academic and artistic inquiry. Absence, silence, and ambiguity are explored as ways of invoking presence, challenging dominant paradigms of transparency and access, and proposing alternative modes of engaging with hidden or fugitive research. Central to this inquiry is the operatic prompter, an unseen presence that feeds lines to the performer, ensuring continuity while remaining hidden. The prompter’s role complicates the link between knowledge and articulation, shaping the performance without claiming authorship. Like other fugitive voices in history, the prompter embodies a marginal agency, whispering from the wings.
