Minna Rombo Zetterlund

I lost my language of making at the top of the mountain where the horizon is vast. Resting there for a while, a bit anxiously. A reflector flickered the hope of language returning, once back in my big city cave.

I gasp, eyes centimetres from the spinning lens—huge, reaching all the way to the horizon. “This is… so damn cool. Like, it’s so crazy. It’s so beautiful. It’s incredible. I mean, this is absolutely amazing. Absolutely amazing”.

I walk along the river every morning; it splits the city in two, but the whistle reaches both sides. Pondering communication, antennas enter my mind. And I follow. There is frequency in everything.

I go, seeking what cannot be found, I stumble upon real moments and discoveries, and the installations become site-specific but not bound. Sharing the experiences onward to anyone else who stumbles across them.