top of page


“Oh god, how beautiful the river was. Radiant water, summer in its ripeness. A sense of absolute bliss and an indescribable harmony between us. We were sitting by the water, so content, so as if very usual. I told him this is the most beautiful place. He agreed but, skimming the water with a few fingers, said in regret that this is also very upsetting. To my ‘why’ he replied that none of this will last. 
The water dripping from his hand was so clear and shimmery, charged in the sun, so alive. I instantly felt a split in my heart.

At that moment I woke, I was crying. I couldn’t stop thinking about the river, the road alongside. Everyone went on the road after a swim, sinking their feet deeper into that soft red hot sand, wrapped in towels. Fine sand that made a massive cloud of dust if a car passed by. A car with a neon green cassette in, playing Roxette’s Sleeping in my car. I couldn’t help but think of those fingers skimming the water. The same fingers steering a car. Causing a dust cloud, nothing but haze in the rear mirror.

That’s something to be running away from, I hang on to this thought. Running away from dust forever, sleeping in my car.”

/an extract from a personal journal, 14.03.19./

The piece “All the Small Things” speaks about the relativity of experience.
The creation of it started with bending a brass wire into a long wave curve by hand, concentrating on the process itself and the thought process that accompanies such a monotone physical act. A key factor was self-isolation and memory triggering during this stage, mainly using music as a tool to gain access to random memories.
My father had died at the beginning of 2019 at the age of 62, and my goal was to try to remember as much as I could of him while making this piece. The good, the great, the bad, the sad, the funny, the heartbreaking, the everything. And, the same as the wave, my memories, and my emotions were switching up and down, from uplifting to devastating. The bending took several weeks until it reached a length of 62 meters, which is when I stopped.
Then I rolled it all up and put it in a suitcase and brought it to Latvia, to my home. I took it to a rushing little forest river next to my house and released it. I guided it through every little waterfall and over every moss-covered rock, over and under fallen trees, and back into the water again. Washing the wave and my hands and my mind in that urging stream of life and seeing the water flow away until it reaches the main river of Latvia - Daugava. A slower paced flow with greater depth and in Latvian culture referred to as the River of Destiny.

Afterward followed the making of a curtain of waves; clean, shiny and heavy. A curtain that reflects differently from every angle and moves when touched. 

bottom of page