About a year ago I woke up when the words WHITE FLAG lit up in my mind. It felt like a revelation.
A direct cause was probably a massive populist-protest in my country that bestowed me with amazement, irritation, fear, a sense of not-belonging and threat. When I raised a white flag the next day, in a private performance in the corn field next door, I could release these feelings.
From that day on I saw the need for a white flag pretty much everywhere. The roughly cut trees in the park, the herd of overbred and misshapen cows, the drought in southern Europe and northern Africa, the loss of tradition and simple life, women of Iran, borders, cars, wars… I dragged a white flag from the mud, washed it in the lake, surrendered to it.
Slowly the white flag, that I carried with me for a few months, unfolded into a white field of many meanings. It enabled me to express not only my feelings of unease with situations that I want to but cannot change – it brought about an acknowledgement that the older I get the less I know. It became a sign of bearing witness.
