For the first time in all the years of traveling back and forth and around, I submit myself to the ÖBB night jet. My capitulation is no surprise, though a slight disappointment. As if a natural continuation of our work; to spend nights before exhibitions in an upright position, even if this time, correlations are reversed: not awake because I’m working but working because I’m awake. A bottom-line improvement, if we assume that working through the night is “not good for you” because it’s “unhealthy”, “disorganized” or “points at your workaholism.” But we’d always lean more towards a kind of romanticization of self-exploitation. There is a rush to it, even when I’m sitting in my childhood bedroom far away from it all. A glare – my cat, a nocturnal animal, imploringly eyes me from across the room. The silence between her and me, between us and the rest of the house, seems to form a mutual understanding. I think of you within the quiet. It seems as if these after hours flip us over into a similar sphere, opening up an interconnected space. The distance is still there, yet I can sense you’re here with me, working through the night. It takes a while and quite some patience to understand, let alone accept, what works for us and that, perhaps, this might look a little different to what works for others.

https://www.hamlet.love/en/shows/long-distance