Simone de Groot studied at the Art Academy Den Bosch and the Rietveld in Amsterdam. From her site-specific installations develop over the years ‘comfort spaces’: resting points in our fast-paced society. Simone likes to be challenged by the practical and substantive constraints of an assignment or a place and makes them soft and quiet with minimal means. In doing so, she often uses text or lines of poetry.
“Driven by a need for meaning and soothing the world around me, I want to assist people in vulnerable moments of their lives with my spaces and/or images. I invite them to slow down, and offer them peace. My comfort areas I make commissions for hospitals and churches, as well as in public spaces and art contexts.”
Last summer I spent five weeks as a guest artist in the Gerontopsychiatry+ department of Stichting Mijzo in Dongen. In this ward live people who have been struggling with psychiatric disorders for most of their lives. In addition, they have problems in at least two other areas, such as a wheelchair, Parkinson's disease, stroke or dementia. They often do not have a good idea of the extent of their illness and partially lose control of their lives. I slept and ate among the residents, interacted with them, went outside, and played games. I worked in the studio of artist collective Woman Muskens, which organizes the residency.
Upon arrival, I greet everyone openly and uninhibitedly. Most of my fellow residents receive me very nicely, some more linguistically proficient than others. I immediately clicked with M. She is an independent teacher who - in spite of her wheelchair - prefers to be in a wheelchair.
outdoors. She forms a merry duo with her neighbor, with whom there is nothing wrong at first glance. Resident J. greets me with ambiguous jokes. The ice is broken. One lady turns her head away from my outstretched hand and keeps her mouth shut. The gentleman in a wheelchair by the coffee machine, fends off my outstretched hand with waving arms as if I were a wasp. “No no no no,” he shouts. I deliberately don't ask about diagnoses. The essentials are told to me by the nursing staff. The lady who silences me to death does that to everyone. She wears the same white outfit for the five weeks I've been there and only comes from her room to eat in the common living room. The gentleman in the wheelchair suffers from voices in his head. He always speaks with two words: “Hi hi,” or “Fire fire,” with the gesture of a lighter attached, when he wants to smoke on the balcony.
Most residents are not allowed to carry their own fire. A seventeen-year-old vacationer asks me in amazement why I live and sleep freely in this ward. I wonder that myself, when I lie tossing and turning at night, trying to ignore my screaming neighbor from down the road. I signed up because I want out of the comfort zone of my studio and to face my fear of mental deterioration. I watched my mother lose her cognitive and speech abilities in a short time due to a brain tumor, other family members lose their personalities to dementia. As a chronic migraine sufferer myself, I have a faltering brain. What if that gets worse? Of course, I also just want to work focused for five weeks, inspired by a new environment.
In the first few days, the theme of ‘time’ presents itself. Large calendars, clocks and whiteboards hang in the ward, showing today's date, menu and activities. Despite those constant reminders, the days flow into one another. “Is it only Thursday? I thought it was already Saturday.” A line of poetry comes to mind, from the poem ‘Eb’ by Vasalis: “There is no time. Or is there nothing but time?”.
The fixed daily schedule reminds me of a monastery. I like it beyond expectations. The floor plan of the ward also resembles a monastery: a circular corridor overlooking the lower courtyard garden. The bedrooms are like monastery cells in the outer ring.
The fixed daily schedule belongs to Chronos, linear time, measured in calendars and clocks. In contrast to this Kairos, the inner experience time. I know it as flow, when I'm working nicely, or wu wei from Taoism: acting only at the right time.
Both forms of time are valuable. One helps structure; the other invites one to slow down. I consider that a migraine attack reminds me to balance Chronos and Cairo time. Because working hard is my ‘default setting’ and I put pressure on myself to produce. But what is important now? Work, or that resident with whom I go for a walk?
Much of daily life here consists of waiting. Waiting for food, for someone to take you to the bathroom or to bed, for someone to come for a walk with you, waiting for a fire to smoke. “I am an ocean of waiting”, also from ‘Eb’ By Vasalis.
As a startup in Vrouw Muskens' studio, I continue to work on me n full moon watercolors, a monthly meditative moment. I draw the poem ‘Eb’ and a ginkgo leaf. In front of the entrance to Mijzo are two ginkgo trees. It must be there for a reason. The Ginkgo has been around for three hundred million years and symbolizes longevity, hope and resilience.
I share the spacious and bright studio with Anna, the other guest artist. She stays at GGZ, in a former isolation cell. The collaboration goes very smoothly and we have a lot of support from each other. We exchange experiences daily and have lunch together. It is stimulating and fij n to see her working next to me every day or to run into her in the village.
I begin with images of a turtle and a hare , as symbols of slowness and haste, Kairos and Chronos. M. we st me on her electric wheelchair. Near the button she uses to control the speed are a turtle and a hare. I cover the sculptures with white felt, the color of the silent resident's clothes.
In the ward, I make work on the windows of the circular corridor. I apply Vasalis' poem with adhesive letters in one long line on the windows of the south corridor. In the north corridor, I draw all the phases of the moon in an elongated arc across all the windows, referring to cyclical time, the big picture.
On the windows of the other two hallways I draw ‘time-space systems. In colored circles, I incorporate the department's calendars, clocks and day designations into a kind of galaxy of intermingling days and hours. The dates and days in the web are those of my residency.
Finally, I install a surprise for my regular neighbor across the table. She walks laps in the hallway every day with her walker. Two laps at a time, until her phone says her daily mileage is complete. For her, I make a start/finish spot near the living room. From now on, she can celebrate every lap. A visitor commented, “You've really seen the residents. You have given value to their everyday actions by making it a work of art and ritual.”
I haven't found my own ‘turtle stand’ yet
At the end of my stay, my ward feels like family. It was intense, especially the broken nights, but well worth it. I no longer fear a faltering brain or confused people. I still have steps to take in calming my own brain. I haven't found my own ‘turtle mode’ yet. I have, however, worked wonderfully inspired, made friendships and seen much love and patience at Mijzo. The residents and staff tell them they are going to miss my cheerful presence and that I was a fine lodger. I realize that I have meant more to my fellow residents by being present than by working extremely hard.
This year's four residencies conclude with an exhibition and tours of the works on the wards. Here the art audience from outside mixes with the residents, which I have found to be an added value.
The theme of time has not left me since. Recently the term CRIP-time added: sick time, from criple. Living with a chronic illness or disability takes more time than being sick and recovering. Sick time is also unlived time and taking longer over daily activities. It requires a new relationship between Chronos and Kairos, between Doing and Being.
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