Yrsa Roca Fannberg



This art piece was once a two and a half hour long video. For some reason, the tape is lost. Gone. With time it has become clear that the art piece has gained a different understanding. It has become a myth, a legend. No one would have had the patience to watch the video. Too boring, nothing happes. Nothing happens in it, just a boy in an industrial area in Sweden and a big pile of rice on a table. There are not even photos of the event, but it did take place. What lives though is the memory of the event.

They myth of the video.
The myth of a creation.
The myth of an artist intervention some would say.

It was one of those long summers, where I went back to Sweden during my art school holidays. The summers could be long and boring, but me and my friend Emelie would be experts at finding different projects to do. We believed them to be art projects. This summer was one of those summers.

It is still unknown how, but Emelie had keys to a student community center, where her friend had a cousin, who had a friend who had worked there. This student community center had cameras and my friend had the keys in her pocket.

Emelie was an aspiring film maker and myself an aspiring artist. I borrowed my family's silver Volvo station who was older than my teenage brother Magnús, who I asked or demanded to come along. He was our subject for the day.

I put a table in the large boot of the Volvo, but no chair and off we went to the student community center. It was a Sunday morning, I can´t recall what the weather was like, not raining at least. We had two kilos of rice with us, probably not the exquisite Jasmine or Basmati, but most likely the Co-ops own brand of short grain rice. We drove to the student community center, the streets were especially quiet that Sunday. We checked if someone was there, but no, so we opened the door. Made sure we did it like we were supposed to. Obviously we opened the door with the key, that was in Emelie´s pocket. We picket up one of the VHS cameras and drove off to Malmö.

We arrived to the grey industrial area, full of fixed modern forms. It looked good. We arranged the table in a straight manner, then we emptied the bag of rice and asked Magnús to stand by the table. It was of an extreme importance that he would not smile and stand as motionless as possible. He did. Stood there quietly, not saying a single word. I had asked him to stand there and throw the rice into the air, one by one into the sphere, until there was no rice left.
My brother who has great concentration skills, and he stood there for good two and a half hours, he stood there and one by one with his finger pushed a rice corn into the air. That was the video. This was the art piece, all but forgotten in our memory. Even my brother recalls nothing apart from receiving one Kit Kat as payment. What is left is a fragile myth, a legend.