On the Edge Print

Can one shift from one home to another? What does one take with them when commuting between these two places? What would they bring with themselves if they knew they could never come back home? What does ’home’ look like? What makes a home? What is needed for a place to be called ’home’? And when is this place ceased to be called ’home’? How many homes can one have at the same time? And if there are multiple, can one feel at home in all of these places? When János tells me his stories, there is merely a few that would involve only one location. Not to mention his past weeks, I could barely sum it up in a few sentences, however it would be key to seize the importance of these weeks, given this is what the exhibiton is all about. Svodín, Prague, Budapest. Thousands of kilometers by train, by car. Here and there, up and down, right to the left, amongst the places. He continues to tell me those stories, yet I tend to get lost in all the places. Mostly when he says ’I was coming from home’ or ’I went home’ or ’I have to go home’. I have to stop him and ask. Which ’home’ of yours are you talking about? And he makes clear which is his current ’home’ in mind. For some people ’home’ is marked as an exact location. For some of us it’s context-sensitive. It depends on where we are, who we are talking to, which point of our polygon of commute we are crossing. Sometimes we can only touch the apexes, because we are in a hurry, sometimes we can stay for a while. We often think about what we are going to do when we get home. But it’s okay, we have plenty of time to figure it out on the way. When we get on, get off, buy tickets, sit down, put our luggage down or pick it up, transfer, wait, meet someone, say goodbye, put it in, take it out, purchase, run back, return, discuss, are late, turn around, arrange, and then finally decompress and slow down. We get there, open the doors, give them a hug. We arrive. Right now we are here: home. And it’s good, becasue we sense it has still remained the home it was before, whilst we were away. Even though a vase was set aside, or a few pillows were replaced, it hasn’t changed, it could remain the nest we left behind temporarily for another home. But other times, despite the fact everything stayed the same, we’re trapped by uncertainity. Since, we arrive home, we enter the doors and give hugs to all the ones have to be given, pet the dog, see the garden’s the same, same chicken house, same concrete-mixer.