Black is born from secret recipes, gets washed away, fades, degenerates or resist and stays eternally pitch black. It is the colour of happiness and death, the colour of outsiderness and belonging, radical thinking and bottomlessness.
I walked through the night, looking at the eternal black sky as if there to remind me to keep my thoughts in perspective. From black come greens, blues, pinks, reds, greys and then come day light. The intimidating spacial infinity of black makes my project a never ending work in progress,
in my head the black horse of my girlhood daydreams gallop, the black hooded t-shirt that I wore as a young teenager until it fell apart still exists and what I thought was the love of my life didn’t turn into a black hole in my heart.
I pulled a thread from a knitted sweater and it grew, I cut a pair of black trousers apart and the seams came alive, my hands touched a paper so filled with black pigment that my palms turned sooted and stained.
Working with and wearing black for so many years I continue to answer the question different every time; Why only black?
Ninna Berger MFA