Dasha: henkilö saapuu uuteen paikkaan täällä on harmaa. tämä henkilö istuu ikkunan edessä paljon pöydällä kun kaupunki muuttuu keväällä. mutta täällä paikka ei ole muuttunut paljon, on kylmä täällä. sataa. valkoisen talon vieressä on kaksi lumipalaa, joihin henkilö kävelee matkalaukun kanssa. Henkilö alkaa katsella lunta. 

This person who arrives in the grey town and encounters two snow patches next to the white art residency building is me. 

I arrive from the city that has been turning green with all the snow has melted for a month now. I begin to watch the snow here. 

I started to write in Finnish because I am the person who moves by connecting things. I sat at my desk in Merihaka throughout the winter and practiced Finnish language while watching snow. I felt love and care towards snow, the way people's shoes pressed on it throughout the days. I felt love and care toward the language, the way my tongue pressed the roof of my mouth and inside of my teeth when I practiced words. In May Marihaka’s snow was gone, the pressing disconnected. When I arrived at Outokumpu I started watching snow again. Out of the second floor kitchen's window, out of the first floor's living room. 

Suvi, my colleague and friend in this project, arrives the day later, when spring hits and the sun gets a sudden sharpness. Two patches of snow by the window begin to melt as Suvi and I begin our three weeks Outokumpu-Magnitogorsk project. 

The snow develops its project of a slow melting as Suvi and I develop ours. In the mornings we begin with melting on the floor of the living room and take turns leading a movement practice for each other. I take an early morning walk before that: the first snow patch is in the parking area in front of the house, the second one is to the right of the house. The patches are piled firmly on the cold dirt still barely melting on chilly mornings. On my way back from my walk, I jump onto the edge of the second patch and sink in with my sneakers. The marks are left and the familiar and human remains there for a while. 

Suvi and I begin to go to the local theater called Kino Marita to rehearse. We bike by the snow patches. One of the resident artists, Alex, sits on the chair to the right of the snow and draws a rock. Our lives in Outokumpu become enveloped by snow and its time left.

Snow edges roughen and dark veins - sticks, leaves and pebbles - poke through, while our project also changes shape and texture, gets some semiotic sticks and pebbles as we interview the residents, talk to the students of the dance school and explore the area. I start documenting melting snow. I don’t take sudden disappearances easily, so documentation is needed to keep some kind of record of the snow movement. Keep it checked or rather keep myself checked. I lost the track of Merihaka's snow and cannot recall its disappearance anymore. I keep my own shape as a watcher every day. Suvi and I draw maps, diagrams, journal in our notebooks and start a google doc to keep a record of all of our ideas. Every day.

Snow is melting. It gets hot in Outokumpu. Suvi is taking a sunbath spread on the bench next to the fire pit in front of the residency building. I watch her naked back and buttocks from the kitchen window when turning my gaze to the left, I watch snow when turning it to the right. They both are naked in their white exposed to the sun bodies - Suvi and the snow - on the brown of the wood and dirt. 

Alex, Suvi and I get the keys to the Old Mine's Torni from the Old Mine museum's desk. Suvi and I have rehearsed for a week now, our dramaturgy is loose, we are playful and playfully unsure in our practice. We take this exploration as part research, part play. We both like old objects that might have lost their anthropocentric functionality and gained another presence. The tower is full of such objects. We get to the very top and watch Outokumpu from above. I look into Russia's direction, my home town direction, my mother's hometown direction. I imagine touching Magnitogorsk when I reach my arm out. We look at the patches of lakes - the nearby toxic one and the further swimming ones and fantasize how we take a day off and bike to the beach. That never happens. We take selfies. I take three photos of the snow patch. Suvi records the sound of the electric box on the way down.

I miss the very moment of the snow disappearing. I spent some time with snow in the morning before, considering collecting some in a plastic container. That thought embarrasses me as it exposes my attachment to objects and my un-ease with losing them. I want this snow to leave a mark in my life, to leave me with material evidence of our encounter, similar to how encountering Finnish language left me with words and sounds. Yet, collecting the sample of Outokumpu snow patch doesn't feel right - it feels like grabbing, taking hostage, taking away. There are wet spots on the place of the snow patches the day after, as if the snow left its own mark before leaving. 

Suvi and I do the performance at KinoMarita on Sunday, May 30th and leave the same day. There are 10 people in the audience. We drive with Suvi's mom through Finland back to Helsinki - there is no snow on the way South, only late spring naked.

Hello, my name is Suvi!

I am an art worker. 

Hello, my name is Suvi! 

I am … Actually the exit sign is so powerful that I might just step out now. 

Okay see you bye! 

Hei, minun nimi on Dasha! 

Olen töissä ja tanssija. 

Hei, minun nimi on Dasha! 

Olen… ei, katsos enää 3 päivää niin tuo lumi ei ole enää tuossa. 

Minun pitää nyt mennä katsomaan sitä. Nähdään!