Ways to live:

Reflections on Silvi Kadillari’s Testing Grounds residency, March 2021

Two prisoners whose cell walls adjoin communicate with each other by knocking on the wall. The wall is the

thing which separates them but it is also their means of communication. It is the same with us and god. Every

separation is a link. - Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace

Silvi recalls to me the moment she had as a child when she first encountered the idea of windows to a house

being what the are eyes are to the body. The architectural flip-side of the common saying that ‘the eyes are the

windows to the soul.’ Her child mind immediately made the connection between curtains or window furnishings

and eyelids. I am reminded of childhood fascinations with seeing and being seen, games of peek-a-boo, hide

and seek, and the moments when children think that they can’t be seen if they cover their eyes, despite their

bodies being within full view.

I had a similar fascination with thresholds to Silvi as a child - spending what seemed like hours to my 4-yearold

brain looking out of windows, looking at the dead flies on windowsills and staring at the street outside

through the metal grate security door. I spent ages watching the patterns in the security door shift as I moved

slightly from side to side. In these moments, thresholds became spaces which held a strange kind of agency of

their own.

Silvi expresses some slight reservations about exploring some personal territory in this most recent body of

work. As is a relentless task for artists, Silvi has been wrestling with this tension between inside and outside,

between what has a significant meaning within her own inner world of thought and memory, and what

transcends that world into a public space of shared meaning. Looking at her work, I am convinced that this

entry into personal history and memory has a quality that spills out into a space of new and shared meaning,

transgressing our perceived limits of the personal.

As part of this recent body of work, Silvi has been dismantling and re-assembling objects from her life, things

she has owned, worn and kept over time. Some of them are gifts of pieces of costume jewellery she received

from visiting relatives from her own place of origin in Albania. She shares that she doesn’t feel guilt about

dismantling these objects, although doing so has been a process of examining the feelings that have been

attached to them.

Silvi’s pulling apart of personal objects involves a desire to understand how the dismantled pieces operate on

their own. By losing their origin, do they disintegrate into empty signifiers, links of chains unable to generate

meaning on their own? To me, this process does involve some kind of a loss, but one that makes way for the

formation of a new syntax; a new structure of meaning. By reimagining her relationship to these objects and

pieces of her personal history, Silvi is opening up space for herself.

I feel like there is something about the kind of loss that happens in the making of art, present in Silvi’s practice

that opens up the possibility for something greater, and for others to enter in. There is a sharing of the self that

is a kind of generative loss. In the essay Black Sun, Kristeva writes “my depression points to my not knowing

how to lose - I have perhaps been unable to find a valid compensation for the loss? It follows that any loss

entails the loss of my being - and of Being itself.” Silvi’s work is an active counterweight to this natural direction

of thought preceded by loss.

Silvi ends her poem, Sweaty Swings with the lines “and i slip my foot back in my shoe/and think about ways to

live.” Without undertaking the kinds of risks an artist such as Silvi has, we might all still be living as kids with

our hands over our eyes, feeling safe in the ‘not seeing’ despite being in full view. To me, the work that Silvi

has undertaken over this residency has been an imagining of different “ways to live” that allows a kind of loss

to generate a shared yet still safe and intimate space.

Written by Miranda King