It’s June 28th, 2023. Three years earlier I’d made a collection of zines, titled Lichaam van een Vreemdeling (Body of a Stranger). Images poems essays letters stories. Talking writing photographing strangers friends ex-lovers acquaintances family members. Some fivehundred pages of doubt. Trying to analyse what it meant (means) to be lonely, wanting to understand belonging, and the longing that bridges the gap. How, yes. Why, yes. But also: where, when, who. Why them. Immediately afterwards a pandemic. Also: the fallout of poorly worded questions. As a result, everyone is a stranger now. And people are still lonely.

Today, however, I decide to meet a stranger. We talk about living with and amongst others. We manifest and relate to the imagined presence of others. That loneliness.

And afterwards, up until early 2025, there are others. Performers, actors, dancers. Those who have memories of their own bodies. They are all there on Day 1. And I can see them.